


Wind Me Up

by LucienDeLorne, redrocketracer



Category: South Park
Genre: Actor!Kenny, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Backup Singer!Craig, Collaboration, M/M, The celeb au no one asked for, bassist!Craig, fake relationships, fan girls/boys, illustrated story, music references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 22:24:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3626511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucienDeLorne/pseuds/LucienDeLorne, https://archiveofourown.org/users/redrocketracer/pseuds/redrocketracer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Figure it out. Figure him out. Make it fun for yourself. Craig is a mystery to the media, but you’ll be able to expose him in the end if you play your cards right."</p><p>He’ll give the band the fact that they have talent, but he still feels bitterness on his tongue as he thinks of being in a false relationship with the male.</p><p>However, maybe Kyle is right.</p><p>Maybe Kenny can expose him for who he is. Kenny doesn't know who that person is, and he is anxious to find out, though he can’t fathom why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

There is something surreal about seeing your face on the big screen. It doesn’t matter how many times you have witnessed it, really. Kenny McCormick could vouch for this statement. He sits right in the front row of the movie theater, his gaze firmly on the scene ahead of him. Kenny takes in his body displayed before him, enlarged on the film. The duplicate version of himself is being cradled in the arms of a tall, thin woman with golden curls framing her face. It will always be like he is in a dream.

 

“…Mysterion.” Bebe Stevens' character weeps, tears rolling down her cheeks. Mysterion, who is Kenny’s superhero character, interlaces his fingers with hers. He gives her the best smile he can as he takes in his last few breaths, his hand gently squeezing her own back.

 

The camera zooms in on his face as his eyes become dead; devoid of life, and Bebe Stevens lets out a little whimper as she takes her fingers and rests them on his eyelids, closing Mysterion’s eyes and letting him enter his eternal rest.

 

The credits start rolling, and there is a thunder of applause. People stand as their hands slap together in claps. Some fellow actors at the premiere exclaim that “oh my god, they killed Kenny…,"an on going joke in his fan base as his characters always meet their demise. Kenny remembers his first movie, a horror flick where he was torn limb from limb by his killer. Since then, it has been nothing but death.

 

Kenny weaves his way through the mass of people at the premiere. Outside of the theater and on the road before the Red Carpet was his limo to take him to the after party. The stars aren't visible in the city night, just the bright lights of the Big Apple above him. He used to be so fascinated by this when he first moved here from Colorado. Now it has lost its novelty. When he arrives to the vehicle he pulls the door open, taking a seat on the leather cushions. His eyes fall on his manager and publicist, Kyle Broflovski.

 

Kyle sits back with a glass of champagne, lazily passing the bottle to Kenny, who is a bit taken aback because Kyle never is one to drink too heavily or at all. He doesn't question it, though, and grabs a glass to fill. The light turned on inside the limo illuminates Kyle’s sun-kissed skin. He is clad in a tuxedo, red hair frizzed as usual; a big, curly mess.

 

“You did great tonight, Kenny.” Kyle says, grinning lopsidedly. Kenny lets out a laugh.

 

“But,” he says, expecting honesty from Kyle, who rolls his eyes.

 

“ _But_ did you really have to flirt with all of your co-stars? Come on, Ken. Keep it in your pants or somewhere the paps won’t see.” He snorts. Kenny just smiles charmingly at his companion. Kyle’s face goes from pleased to distressed in seconds. He lets out a long, suffering sigh as the limo’s wheels roll down the pavement.

 

He raises his glass to Kenny in toast of his success and the fact that he helped craft it. Kenny complies himself, and they both take a sip of the alcohol. Kenny stretches his arms out over Kyle’s shoulder and leans his head back. It’s a good life; better than the life he lived in his adolescence, at least. He relishes in the silence that Kyle is allowing him to have. One thing he admits he’ll miss is the quiet and peace of it all. It really is never dull in the fame game.

 

The flashy after parties are usually held in Manhattan so the drive is short, and they arrive at the hall the shin-dig is being held at rather quickly but remain seated in the limo. Kyle sets his glass down. His eyelashes rest on his cheeks, a nice mixture of light tan and fiery red. He pulls out of Kenny’s grasp and turns to him, those eyelids opening again to stare at his client and best friend.

 

“We need to talk, Kenny.” Kyle says, scooting away from Kenny.

 

“Oh?” Kenny inquires. He grins, curious as he waits for the the male to respond and elaborate.

 

“Listen.” Kyle starts, and Kenny remains quiet; all ears.

 

“You kind of have a bad reputation right now. You did see the rumors about your rendezvous with Bebe the other night, right?” Kyle questions. Kenny lets out a laugh at the memory. He remembers alright. That was a good night.

 

“Sure do.” He says cheerfully. Kyle’s brows furrow, and he lets out another sigh. As much as he loves his best friend, he can be insufferable.

 

“Well, they are saying you are not loyal or committed. Your fans are starting to think you are a sleaze.” Kenny’s smile falters at that. A _sleaze_?

 

“Me? Nah.” He snorts, taking a sip from his cup before resting it next to Kyle’s. Said male inhales deeply through his nose and exhales just as quickly. “Yes, you, Kenny! Do you know how much you are suffering from your libido?” He pauses and pulls out his suitcase. It is a battered thing, carried down from his dad who was in law and justice.

 

“Lucky for you, I am your manager and—“

 

“Fantastic publicist, I know.” Kenny DOES know. Kyle handles Kenny’s career, fixes his boo-boo’s, books him gigs and all the good stuff. He does it without complaints and with a smile as if it doesn't wear on him, to which Kenny is grateful.

 

“I have a solution; a proposal of sorts. Are you familiar with the band _the_ _Lasers_?”

 

Kenny’s fingers twitch uncomfortably at that. He is familiar with them. They seem like right arseholes. Or, at least the member who gets the most spotlight does. Kenny seldomly pays attention to the media outside of what they are saying about him, but sometimes he’ll flick on the gossip station.

 

“I have heard of them, yeah.” He says, honestly. Kyle reaches a hand to tangle in his red frizz as he finishes unlocking his suitcase. Laid right on top of his files and papers is magazine after magazine and newspaper clipping. Kyle pulls it out and plops them on Kenny’s lap. He then lets out an “ah-ha” as he digs out the band's newest CD.

 

“Well, you’re about to get a lot more familiar with them.” Kyle says, and Kenny’s eyes flick down to the magazines, his eyes skimming over the titles.

 

 

 

 _Member of_ _Band_ _the_ _Lasers_ _Flips_ _Off the_ _Paparazzi_ _Yet_ _Again!_

_The_ _Lasers_ _Backup Singer Doesn't Care About Fans_

_Plain and Boring! Says the Lasers ' Backup Singer and Bassist!_

 

Craig Tucker.

 

He guesses he doesn't really know the other male, but what he has seen of him has been him flicking the paparazzi off and hiding behind sunglasses. He _screams_ asshole. Kenny looks up from the newspaper clipping.

 

“What does this have to do with me?” Kenny inquires. His eyes fall on Kyle, whose tongue darts out to moisten his lips.

 

“Well, I talked to Craig’s publicist,” Kyle starts. He looks a bit exasperated when he says that, as if it has just been a long day, but continues.“We think it might be good for you guys to do a PR relationship. It would only be for a year at most. Craig’s reputation is not doing any better, unfortunately. We were thinking that if we show that you can be committed and loyal that it would show that Craig is capable of actual emotions- Don’t look at me like that, Kenny.” Kyle finishes as Kenny’s nose scrunches up. Said male reaches a hand out to scratch at the back of his neck nervously.

 

“I don’t think it would work, Kyle. I don’t think anyone would believe I’d waste my time on someone like that.” He replies evenly. Kyle smiles at that.

 

“You’d be surprised. I think you guys would look great together. I thought you liked a challenge, anyways. Think of it this way, Kenny,” He starts. His hand rests on the handle of the door as he says it, the conversation clearly almost over for him. While Kenny wants to battle him until the end, he knows it is futile because Kyle is a force to be reckoned with;fierce and persistent. Kenny couldn't win a fight with him. Not even if he tried.

 

“You’ll be the first to get this close to Craig Tucker. Figure it out. Figure _him_ out. Make it fun for yourself. Craig is a mystery to the media, but you’ll be able to expose him in the end if you play your cards right.” He tugs on the handle, the door to the limo opening to the city night.

 

Kenny watches as Kyle steps out and turns back to him, leaning into the entrance of the vehicle. His hazel eyes flick to where Kenny sits.

 

“I set up a meeting for next week. I’ll text you the address.Post something about hanging out with Craig on Twitter. It’ll drive your fans crazy.” He whispers so no one outside can hear him. Not that they could, being that there is a bunch of shrieking, laughter and noise surrounding them.

 

“Whatever, Kyle.” Kenny says. The other male smiles weakly and turns to be with his people, but Kenny remains seated to collect himself.

 

 

By the time Sunday rolls around, Kenny is lying in his bed, his laptop next to him. The name _Craig Tucker_ is typed into his search engine. His first thought is to see what the fanbase is saying on Tumblr, but he opts out of that, remembering the last time he roamed that website. Kenny cringes at the memory.

 

Eventually, he settles for recent articles. His eyes dart across the screen, taking in the words before him. As he proceeds to read article after article, he begins to develop more and more dislike for the bassist. He closes his laptop, the sound of theLasers' song "Thread" playing in the background of his apartment. He can admit they are a talented lot, the instrumental being beautiful, fast paced and blending together smoothly. The main singer has a unique voice, but it is suiting.

 

_Find a thread to pull…._

 

He’ll give the band the fact that they have talent,but he still feels bitterness on his tongue as he thinks of being in a false relationship with the male.

 

However, maybe Kyle is right.

 

Maybe Kenny can expose him for who he is. Kenny doesn't know who that person is, and he is anxious to find out, though he can’t fathom why.

 

_And we can watch it unravel…_


	2. Chapter 2

"Hn." Craig grunts, crossing his legs and leaning forward in the uncomfortable, wooden chair of Cartman's kitchen. He's fairly used to receiving hateful comments considering he's always greeted with at least 20 new updates  every morning, and they always say the same things. "You're disgusting," "You're rude to your fans," "You're a snob." He never responds to them, though. Sometimes Cartman encourages him to say something witty back, but Craig always opts for ignoring the comments. His fans always get fired up and defend him anyway so he doesn't see the point in getting involved.

 

"You look like shit, Tucker." Cartman grumbles in obvious agitation, reluctantly pouring Craig a glass of wine and placing it in front of him.

 

"You told me to be myself." Craig responds evenly, not even bothering to look up from the screen of his cell phone to see the reddening of Cartman's plump cheeks. He knows he looks like Hell, his hair messy, bags under his eyes that are so dark they're starting to look like bruises, and still in his pajamas, but he has never been one for putting up a facade. He doesn't care about how others perceive him, and it shows even though Cartman tries to do damage control by releasing frequent, apologetic statements to the press.

 

"When I said that, I meant I wanted you to be Craig Tucker, controversial heart throb. Not Craig Tucker, _controversial, mangy slob_." Cartman scoffs, moving to look at himself in the full length mirror he has on the back of his kitchen door.

 

"You should've been more specific." Craig murmurs flatly, checking out the trending tags on Twitter out of boredom. He's rarely ever on Twitter, only releasing selfies and updates a few times a month when Cartman bitches at him enough. Unsurprisingly, the trending tags are "#crenny and #teamcrenny." Craig wrinkles his nose in mild disgust before taking a sip of his wine, careful not to drink too much. He doesn't want to slip up and say something he'll regret in front of that talentless cretin.

 

Cartman whips around and opens his mouth, probably to go on a spiel that would ultimately sounds like a cacophony to Craig's ears, but a rapping on the door stops him. It doesn't seem to stop him from turning around and narrowing his eyes at Craig in what seems like an attempt to intimidate him before rushing to answer the door, though. Craig simply rubs his eyes with the balls of his hands, standing up and sauntering lazily into the living room to take a seat on Cartman's leather sofa with his wine glass still in his hand.

 

_"I've got the best idea ever, Tucker! You are going to become part of a power couple!" Cartman had seemed so excited at first, hazel eyes twinkling from behind thick eyelashes._

_"What?" Craig had asked, though it sounded more like a statement when the word escaped from between his lips. He'd been resting on his couch after a performance, his television turned on to some mediocre comedy show when Cartman burst into the room. "No. Clyde is the lead singer. Make him into a power couple."_

_"Um, no offense, Craig, but no one gives a shit about some chubby, happy-go-lucky tool, alright? He's the face of the band, but you're the eye candy. Everyone wants to know who you're interested in." Cartman explained, though he did it in a way that sounded more offensive than persuasive._

_"There's nothing to talk about. I'm not interested in anyone." Cartman grinned._

_"You are now."_

 

The man who walks into the living room of Cartman's pretentious apartment is exactly what Craig has been expecting; a bombshell blonde in a casual outfit consisting of an orange sweater, dark jeans, and a knitted scarf.  Following behind him is a timid looking redhead in a suit that is better suited for a courtroom than for the apartment of a pompous slob like Cartman. After taking another sip of his liquid courage, Craig sets his glass on the glass coffee table and tucks his hands in the pockets of his black and red plaid, pajama bottoms.

 

"How's about we go talk in the kitchen and give our boys some private time, Kahl?" Cartman proposes sweetly, and Kyle's cringe doesn't go unnoticed by Craig. Nonetheless, Kyle nods and gives Kenny's shoulder a reassuring pat before disappearing into the kitchen with Cartman. Kenny looks quite uncomfortable, but he still keeps up a polite smile, much to Craig's amusement.

 

"So, uh. Hi. My name's Kenny McCormick, but you can call me Ken if you want." Kenny tells him formally, holding his hand out to Craig. Though, Craig makes no move to take his hands from his pockets, staring dully at Kenny with abyssal, obsidian eyes. Kenny's friendly smile quickly slips into a tight frown, and Craig can see his jaw clenching. "I take it that you know what our arrangement is."

 

"I'm aware." Craig responds apathetically, blinking heavy eyelids. For a long moment, neither of them speak, Kenny glaring at Craig and Craig staring at him blankly. Their gaze remains firmly on eachother, unwavering.

 

"Alright, asshole," Kenny growls. "I don't like this anymore than you do so you can give up the 'Oooh, I'm so mysterious' act if you care about your band at all." Kenny continued, azure eyes narrowed into slits as he stared at Craig. Craig’s nose srunches up at the statement. He remembers the feeling of his pick gliding across the strings of his bass the first time. The feeling of performing to a bunch of people in some nowhere town in Colorado. After a few agonizing seconds of tossing the proposal around in his mind, Craig grinds his teeth and shakes Kenny's hand.

 

"Fine, McCormick." he relents. The slight widening of Kenny's eyes is noted by Craig, as is the slight hesitation when he speaks again.

 

"Er- Good."

 

The next 15 minutes are spent in silence as Craig sips his wine and rests his eyes, Kenny awkwardly drinking his own wine across from him in Cartman's recliner. The silence doesn't feel uncomfortable for Craig, but he does grow mildly annoyed when he hears Kenny shifting incessantly in his seat.

 

"So tell me about yourself." Kenny prompts after a while, and Craig doesn't bother to open his eyes to answer.

 

"I'm the bassist and sing back up for The Lasers." Craig answers plainly, running his long, bony fingers through his tangled bangs. He hears Kenny scoff at his answer, but he can't seem to find it in him to open his eyes and look at him; to care.

 

"Well, yeah. I already knew that."

 

"Then why did you ask?" Craig questions without skipping a beat, absent mindedly listening to the way his heartbeat resounds between his temples and wondering if he's just imagining it.

 

"Look, Tucker," Kenny practically spits, and this time Craig cracks his eyes open slightly to look at him, mildly satisfied with himself when he sees that Kenny's cheeks are flushed. "The only way this is gonna work is if you drop the act, and you said you would so just-- Fucking give me something to work with." Kenny snaps, throwing his hands up in exasperation and almost spilling the few drops left in his wine glass. Craig crosses his legs and inspects what's left of his own wine, trying to make sense of his distorted reflection in the red liquid.

 

"I don't understand," Craig starts, and through the corner of his eyes he sees Kenny's brows furrow. "why does everyone thinks I'm an act? I'm not. I don't posess anything for you to work with. There's nothing to me. I don't understand why that's such a hard concept to grasp." The silence following Craig's statement is a lot thicker than that of only minutes ago, and Craig almost snorts at the thoughtful look on Kenny's face, probably trying to find a deeper meaning in Craig's words even though Craig isn't one for cryptic dialogue.

 

Luckily, Cartman and Kyle return from the kitchen before Kenny has the chance to ask Craig to elaborate on his statement, and it doesn't take a genius to see that Kyle is upset. Craig finds it a little odd that a manager and publicist is so expressive, but he doesn't bother dwelling on it, letting his eyes follow the redhead as he moves to sit beside Kenny. Cartman is smiling, but Craig knows him well enough to detect the malice in it, and he finds himself spacing out when Kenny and Kyle begin speaking quietly to each other.

 

"Earth to Craig!" Cartman exclaims, waving his hands in front of Craig's face and earning a pointed look. "Get on your Twitter and post something about how you're having fun with Kenny." Cartman instructs firmly, folding his arms over his sizeable chest and leaning back against his half of the couch. Craig doesn't bothering replying to Cartman, pulling up his Twitter and composing a Tweet that will undoubtedly get his fanbase fired up.

 

@ **craigfucker** : Who would've guessed that @ **kenmccormick** and wine go well together

 

he posts, and within seconds, his phone is buzzing with notifications to tell him that people are favoriting his post. Cartman seems pleased by this, as does Kenny's manager, a wide grin spreading across his freckled cheeks.

 

"If we play our cards right, Crenny is going to be the most talked about couple since Stan and Wendy got together 2 years ago." Kyle chirps, and Craig vaguely registers the urge to Tweet something rude just to screw everything up. Kenny still looks thoughtful and frustrated with himself, and Craig finds himself wondering if Kenny is as stupid as the characters he portrays in his sorry excuses for films.

 

 

_"When I’m sad, I am sad,"_

 

The words don't register as they crawl from between Craig's numb lips, his voice mending its way into Clyde's and becoming a shadow. His fingers are raw from a night of grating them against his bass strings, and his entire body shakes with the aggressive force of his fast-beating heart.

 

_"But when I'm happy- oh God, I am happy."_

The song ends in a way that feels like the aftermath of an orgasm, and the crowd is exploding with applause and cheers. Craig's hands are still shaking when he descends back to down reality, looking out at the euphoric faces of his fans through thick, ebony lashes.

 

"Thank you guys so much for coming out tonight! We appreciate it so, so much! You guys are amazing!" Clyde rejoices like he always does after a show, bidding their fans goodnight and blowing kisses at them like the Casanova he pretends to be. Craig can't remember the last time they played for this many people, possibly never, and he wonders if his interaction with Kenny is the reason.

 

The walk back to their dressing room is anything but quiet, Clyde bubbling over with excitement and Token and Tweek talking about how hot the girls in the front row were. Craig chooses not to join their conversations, settling instead for getting to the room first and snatching a water bottle out of their cooler. The room isn't as hot as the stage was, but Craig still feels as though he's being cooked alive as he presses the bottle to his lips and downs half of its contents.

 

"Dude, your fingers are bleeding." Token says as he moves to get a water bottle for himself, seemingly perturbed by this observation. Craig grunts in reply.

 

"Lost my pick on stage." he responds evenly, capping his bottle moving to collapse back against the ratty, old, puss-colored couch that Clyde refuses to part with. After he cleans his fingers and waves off Doctor Clyde and Nurse Tweek, he finds himself checking his Twitter to see if anyone is talking about their revolutionary performance. Unsurprisingly, everyone is too focused on trying to get answers about his meet-up with Kenny.

 

Even less surprising, Kenny seems to have responded to a bunch of the Tweets with comments like, "It went great! We're gonna do it again some time :)" and "I was pleasantly surprised, actually! I gotta say, @ **craigfucker** can be a pretty fun guy~" Craig rolls his eyes and turns his phone off, deciding that today isn't the day to break his bad habit of not responding to his fans. Just as he's resting his eyes and relaxing on the couch to the sounds of Clyde complaining about the temperature and Tweek attempting to fan him with his tee shirt, the door bursts open, and Cartman bustles into the room.

 

"Hey." Token greets him, sounding wary, and Tweek and Clyde greet him similarly. Craig unceremoniously holds up his middle finger to Cartman, who does the same before tossing Craig's legs off the couch to sit with him and allowing Craig to place his legs on Cartman's lap.

 

"You guys did so great! Those chicks were practically throwing their money at you! Along with other things," Cartman grins, and Token inwardly cringes. "'Specially proud you, Craig." Cartman continues, and Craig can see Cartman's nostrils flare when he grins widely at him.

 

"Okay." Craig mutters simply, watching the grin slips from Cartman's face, presumably because Craig's reaction wasn't as entertaining as he had hoped.

 

"Your next date with McCormick is for you and him to decide, but you better make it good, you little dickwad. Make sure it's this Friday, and make sure you advertise that shit." Cartman orders lowly before once again tossing Craig's legs off the couch and waddling out of the room, a pout firmly placed on his lips as he slams the door. Tweek shrieks, predictably, and Clyde gives Craig an odd sort of grin, Token watching Craig with rapt attention.

 

"What was that about?" Clyde inquires nasally, cocking a brow.

 

"Don't worry about it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Author: LucienDelorne  
> Song(s) Mentioned: Flashlight by The Front Bottoms


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long. Real life has been rough lately.

  
“Do you even have a girlfriend, Kyle? “ Kenny inquires bitterly as said male fusses over the stain on Kenny’s white sweater. Kyle lets out a defeated huff when he realizes that his attempt at ridding the fabric of the hideous splotch of brown are futile. He steps back.

“Do I look like I have a girlfriend, Kenny?” He responds with a roll of the eye. He looks at his handy work and eventually licks his fingers, reaches up to try to smooth down Kenny’s mess of blond hair. Kenny holds up his hands in defense as Kyle tries to tame the golden locks. He has been on edge lately for reasons Kenny didn’t know.

He was going to make a biting mark on the lines of _how do you even know everything you’re telling me then_? Perhaps the relationship between manager and client was supposed to be more professional. However, Kenny has known Kyle since preschool. They grew up together and seen each other’s trials and triumphs. Kenny knows damn well the only lady Kyle has ever spent his time on was Rebecca Costwalds. Rebecca, who was such a sore topic.

Kyle probably doesn’t know half of the behaviors and rules he is telling Kenny to abide by from experience. Even though he knows this, he keeps his mouth shut, not wanting to be on the receiving end of the other male’s fury.

Kenny slaps the tanned hand away and stands from where he is seated in his living room.

“I got this.” He says reassuringly to Kyle, smiling charmingly at him. Kyle smiles back, a nervous upturn of the corners of his mouth. Usually he is far from nervous. All confidence and fire. However, he sometimes gets timid before premieres. Kenny guesses this is like the release of a big movie. Kenny is an actor, and in a way this is another character he has to play. This time it is different, though. There are no take two’s, no chance to mess up and laugh with his costars. There will be no bloopers.

He is not nervous though.

Kenny refuses to be anxious around Craig Tucker. He remembers the night before, listening to his words. The thing about humans that Kenny assumes Craig doesn’t quite register is they are not _nothing_. Humans have an end and a beginning and the middle is full of so many intricate details. Craig is not special, is not disclosed from this and Kenny will not relent from revealing whatever he can about the stoic male.

“You will walk to pick Craig up, and then you guys will be taking the long island rail road to get to Queens.” Kyle says as he hands Kenny his cell phone. Kenny doesn’t question it really. His eyes flick down to the screen of the electronic and he reads the texts between him and Craig.

 

Kyle pats Kenny on the back and pushes him towards the door. With a sigh, Kenny shoves the device in his pocket, making his way to the stairs. For such a fancy, high class apartment complex they really should invest in getting an elevator.

 

With his mind swimming in how this could possibly play out, Kenny trots down the steps. When he arrives at the first floor he pushes open the door to the world outside. New York City is crowded as usual, the streets bustling with life. Kenny types in the address he is supposed to meet Craig at and follows the directions, opting not to take a subway or a cab. He hates the damn transportation system, is used to just driving around or walking in Colorado. So he avoids it at all costs. Craig seems to live a few blocks down, anyways.

Kenny’s fingers curl around the arm of his sunglasses and he pulls them out of his pocket, resting it on his face.

When he arrives at Craig’s apartment complex he throws a text his way and waits outside, opting to sit on the steps in front of the building. His eyes fall on the people of New York. Watches their movements, how everyone is so closed off from everyone else as they hurry to their jobs, their families, their lives. Kenny again tries to comprehend how Craig could say he is _nothing_. He calls bullshit on the asshole.

 

Eventually Craig comes out, steps in front of Kenny. Kenny plays along the best he can and stand up, close to him.

 

“Tucker” he greets, smiling as charmingly as he can. Craig has a flat expression on his countenance, and Kenny doesn’t expect anything else from the other male. It looks like he’d have to carry the weight and make this stupid date look as realistic as he can. He nods his head in the direction of where one of the entrances to penn station would be. Fortunately Craig lives fairly close to it.

 

They walk in a thick silence that doesn’t get any more comfortable when they are seated on the lirr. The trip to Jamaica, Queens is pretty short. Kenny takes off his sunglasses, noticing some girls eyeballing the two of them. Kenny rests a hand on Craig’s knee, trying to make it look as suggestive as he can to the onlookers. Craig’s gaze remains firmly outside the window, watching the scenery rush passed.

 

“I read that you were born in Colorado.” Kenny admits, quietly. Trying to make it so other won’t hear their conversation. Craig’s eyes remain glued to the blurs of colors passing by outside their window, he does respond though.

 

“Yep.” He says, flatly. Kenny’s fingers run small circles on the fabric of Craig’s jeans. He can feel the stare of a few passengers, their eyes on the two people they’ve only ever dreamt of seeing in real life.

 

“So was I. How do you like the city? It’s different, right? I like the beaches better. That’s why I suggested Montauk.” Craig scoffs at Kenny’s attempts to engage him in small talk. The only sound that could be heard was the rolling of the train down the tracks, the chatter of other people. Kenny squeezes Craig’s knee, thinking that was all he was going to get out of him. How annoying, really. Craig is such asshole. However, a few seconds before they announce that they are to stop in Jamaica, Craig opens his mouth.

 

“I have a beach house in Montauk. I rarely go there.” He admits, dry. Kenny grins at the information, finally. Something. The knowledge is stored in the back of his mind as they stand, making their way off the train. He doesn’t think it is too important, maybe it isn’t. Whatever the case, it is more than what Craig has given him in the past.  

 

* * *

 

They haven’t run into any serious form of harassment via the paparazzi yet. Though Kenny knows it will come soon. He pulls open the door for Craig and the other male throws him a dirty look that Kenny opts to ignore.

 

The arcade is fantastic. Dark, with blotches of light coming from all different sources. It’s not heavily crowded that day, though Kenny knows Kyle probably purposely made some anonymous tips. Kenny remembers when the two of them came there for the first time when they had just moved to the city. Back then Kenny didn’t have to worry about his life being publicized. In this moment the publicity is good, good for his reputation and Craig’s. However, it doesn’t make the situation any less shitty.

 

There is a stand for food and Kenny motions with his hands towards it.

 

“Want to get something to eat first, ice queen?” he jokes. Craig’s cold eyes lay on his and he flips the blond off.

 

“Eat a dick.” He says, evenly. Kenny just grins. He throws his arm around Craig’s middle playfully and notices how the skinnier male tenses under his hold. He almost retreats, feeling Craig’s discomfort. But this is all a part of the act. When they get the concession stand the women serving them has an expression of disbelief on her face. Her mouth opens and closes, blinking a few times.

 

“Oh, um.” She shakes her head, bringing herself back to reality. She had red hair and thick, black lashes from what Kenny assumes is mascara. Her hands are freckled and she’s pale. Totally Kenny’s type. Anyone is Kenny’s type, really. The red head continues on.

 

“How may I help you?” Kenny smiles at the girl and almost makes a pass at her until he realizes his arm is slung around Craig and his hand is dangerously close to his ass.  Fucking Craig.

 

“Strawberry milk shake for me. And uh, what do you want Craig?” He looks to the other male who is eyeballing the menu lazily. Craig takes his sweet old time, Kenny notes he seems a bit indecisive. When he does order, he settles for a fries.

 

They grab their order when it’s made and take a seat at one of the tables by the little food court. Kenny again tries to engage Craig in conversation, though to no avail. He watches as Craig picks at his fries, ignoring everything Kenny says and opting to rest his tired looking eyes. Kenny lets out a sigh, defeated in his attempts at prying something out of Craig. His gaze falls on the door of the arcade and he takes note that the first sign of the paps is evident. Kenny stands, throwing away his and Craig’s garbage. He rests a hand on the taller male’s shoulder and nods his head in the direction of the gaming floor. Play time.

 

Kenny watches Craig squeeze his eyes shut, as if willing the scenario away.

 

They start with a shoot em up game, one of Kenny’s favorite. This does spur a bit of a reaction out of Craig, curses fall out of his mouth every once and awhile when his character gets shot. It makes Kenny more at ease, listening to the small profanities. Eventually Kenny’s part of the screen says ‘Defeated!’ and he lets out a frustrated sigh. Craig finishes the last of the board, coming out victoriously.

 

They switch from game to game, the last thing they settle on before there is more of a crowd of people and paparazzi snapping photos of them is a racing tournament. Kenny is frustrated because what the hell? How is this asshole so good at this? His virtual car makes a sharp turn into a crowd and the games audio lets out a chorus of ‘booooo!’. It’s a little interesting to see Craig so focused on something. He looks tired as usual but his gaze is steady on the screen. Taking everything I with an analytical, critical stare.

 

Kenny stands and folds his arms, in the background there is the hum and tunes of the video games. There is also a music system playing songs and from their speaker some song plays among the chatter of humans and beeping of machine.

 

He tries to think of something they haven’t done and that could engage Craig in something more than just grunts and cursing under his breathe. His eyes fall on the Dance Dance Revolution mat, and one side of his lip twitches up at the thought.

 

“Let’s play DDR.” Kenny says casually. Craig looks up at him, an annoyed expression on his countenance.

 

“No.” he responds, nasal. Kenny leans in, smiling because he knew that was the reaction he’d gain.

 

_Let this be our little secret, no one has to know we’re feeling…_

The lyrics play on the speakers in the background and Kenny leans into Craig’s ear, whispering. He knows the other male is probably peeved but in a weird way he likes stirring reactions out of him.

 

“We have to make this look real.” He whispers, standing up straight. He can see the flashing of cameras. Perfect shot for the media. He knows what it looks like, like he’s probably whispering something suggestive to Craig. He’s not going to deny it, because that is what he wanted. Craig remains still for a few seconds, eyes half lidded and mouth in a tight, straight line.

 

He eventually stands and they make their way other to the dancing pad. Where Kenny picks the song and thoroughly kicks Craig’s ass. He can’t help but laugh at his piss poor attempts at keeping up with the dancing and Kenny shows off some of his moves. He’s always loved to dance. Always expressed his happiness through movement of his arms and body as a kid. Eventually Craig is falling from trying to keep up, falling on top of Kenny and Kenny rests a hand on his ass. He smiles up at Craig who furrows his brows.

 

There is more flashing and clicking of cameras and he feels Craig push Kenny away, trying to escape the limelight.

 

His middle fingers remain raised as he walks passed all the paparazzi, curious onlookers and fans. Kenny laughs hysterically along with it, flipping them off too. Got to make it look real, right?

 

_Higher and higher and higher, higher and higher and higher_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Author: redrocketracer  
> Song (s) mentioned: Little Secrets by Passion Pit


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Author: LucienDeLorne

"Something wrong, Craig?"

Craig frowns, blinking away the clouds in his vision. He's resting on the couch with Clyde snoring obnoxiously on one side of him and Tweek staring at him with furrowed brows on the other side. It has been a lazy, Saturday afternoon that they've spent watching reruns of old television shows and napping. Though, Craig can't remember if he really slept or not, having zoned out while changing the channel on the television.

"Hn." he grunts in response to Tweek, rubbing his sore eyes and rolling his shoulders back. Tweek nods quickly and resumes his incessant bouncing of his foot against the wooden floor, a nervous habit that Craig has gotten used to at this point. He rubs his thumb over the buttons on the remote, looking through the channels on the guide before impulsively settling for the E! News channel.

"Crenny: The Newest Power Couple?

Last week, the alleged couple was spotted at an arcade in Queens where reporters say that. . ."

The perky tone of the reporter on the television screen as she reveals embarrassing photos of him and Kenny at the arcade makes Craig's skin burn. He has been avoiding social media and gossip shows like the plague after he humiliated himself by not only dancing with the grace of a crippled deer but also by falling on top of Kenny and their retreat, a raise of the middle finger on both their part. He's grateful for the fact that his bandmates know better than to bring anything about the date up to him.

The reporter seems to be having trouble containing herself when she shows a particularly unflattering image of Craig with his face buried in Kenny's chest and one of Kenny's hands awkwardly placed on his ass, taken after the fall in the arcade. After cursing the reporter under his breath, he turns off the television and tosses the remote to Tweek, sauntering into the kitchen. Token glances up at him briefly before going back to smelling the takeout they got a few days ago, making a face and prodding the hardened noodles with chopsticks.

"So you and Kenny, huh?" Token asks without tearing his attention away from the takeout, but Craig can tell that Token isn't all that convinced.

"Sure." Craig answers simply, taking a seat at the kitchen table when he starts to feel a bit dizzy, fog returning to his mind in full force. Token drops the takeout into the waste bin and snorts, tucking a stray deadlock behind his ear and turning to look at Craig.

"You could sound more convincing, you know." he chuckles, and Craig rolls his eyes before muffling a yawn with the back of his hand. "Still tired?" Token asks knowingly, and Craig doesn't answer, resting his chin in his palm on the table. He watches Token's lips part again as he's about to speak, but the front door bursts open, and Tweek's shriek echoes through the house.

"Shit!" Craig hears Clyde cry, and he stands up to go see what's going on, though it doesn't take a genius considering he can smell Cartman's musky cologne from a mile away. In the living room, Cartman is brandishing a newspaper, Tweek is clutching the arm of the couch for dear life, and Clyde looks like he's on the verge of tears.

"What do you want?" Token is the first to speak, sounding indignant. Craig walks over to the couch and sits on the arm closest to Clyde, allowing Clyde to groggily and childishly place his head on Craig's lap.

"What I want, Token," Cartman drawls, slapping the newspaper down on the coffee table and smugly folding his arms over his chest. "is for you guys to keep raking in the fuckin' dough!" he grins widely, and points to the headline on the newspaper that reads, Crenny Takeover. As he continues to ramble, Craig drowns him out, his breathing becoming even and his vision blackening. He's always too tired to sleep, spending most nights staring at the ceiling as his body aches with fatigue.

"Earth to Craig!" Cartman's obnoxious voice rings through Craig's ears, and his eyes flutter back open to stare blankly at his manager. "Were you even listening to me, you asshole?" Cartman groans, tossing his hands up in exasperation.

"Leave him alone. He's sleepy." Clyde defends him, frowning and patting Craig's thigh in a way that Craig assumes is meant to be reassuring. Cartman seems to falter at this, narrowing his eyes at Craig as if to judge the extent of his fatigue before sighing and taking a seat across from the couch.

"Fine, fine. Whatever. As I was saying, Craig, you and Kinny need to plan another date soon. I'm thinkin' somewhere romantic like a restaurant or somethin'." Cartman proposes, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Of course you would think food is romantic." Craig says flatly, and the look on Cartman's face is almost laughable.

"Ay! Shut the fuck up, Craig, ya asshole! Restaurants are totally romantic, and you and Kinny are gonna go stuff your fuckin' faces under candlelight, alright?" Cartman snaps, his chubby cheeks flushed bright red. Craig doesn't protest, instead slipping his fingers through Clyde's hair and watching Cartman blankly. "Good. Now you gotta have your first kiss soon, too, 'cause nobody's gonna believe you guys are fags for each other if you don't kiss." Craig's stomach turns at this information, but he rests his eyes and allows Clyde to place a hand over his own.

"Whatever."

** **

It's nearly 7 p.m. on a Saturday night, and Kenny is supposed to be arriving at any moment to drive Craig to some snooty restaurant, but Craig is still in his pajamas, lying on his bed and going through his Twitter. His notifications consist of fans asking for details and pictures of their date as well as other people ranting about how an asshole like him isn't good enough for the great, Kenny McCormick. He doesn't bothering replying to any of the messages, but he snorts when he sees that Kenny has replied to a hate comment directed at Craig with, "Yeah, but he's bad enough for me ;)"

"Craig! What the fuck!" Craig cringes when Cartman's loud voice echoes off the walls, watching the man rush into his bedroom. "You're supposed to be dressed and ready to go! You have to look nice! This is a prestigious restaurant, y'fuckin' dickhole!" Cartman chides lewdly, and Craig watches as Cartman starts to grab at his arm but refrains, pulling his hand away from Craig. "Just get up! I'll pick something for you to wear." Cartman scoffs and goes to rummage in Craig's closet, sounding as though he's spent the whole day dealing with unruly assholes.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Craig asks with a slight frown, his voice low and hoarse from spending most of his Saturday playing some singing game on the Xbox with Clyde. The look of disgust that Cartman gives him makes Craig's gaze harden, and he sits up.

"You look like you spent the entire day yankin' your dick. That's what's wrong with it."

"Maybe I did." The brief look of horror on Cartman's face is enough to satisfy Craig's anger towards him, and he relents, standing up and going over to throw on whatever Cartman has picked out for him. Cartman still looks a little green when he shoves an outfit into Craig's chest, placing his hands on his rather wide hips. After an intense stare down, Cartman groans.

"What are you waiting for? Just get dressed! Jesus Christ, I'm not askin' you to get naked for me!" Cartman exclaims, clearly fed up with Craig's modesty.

"I don't undress in front of people." Craig replies flatly, shifting his weight onto one of his feet and holding the outfit to his chest. Cartman always seems so irritated by the fact that Craig doesn't let anyone see him without clothes on, and Craig has always assumed it stems from the fact that Cartman can't make money by distributing shirtless photos of him to young girls.

"Fine, I'll go! Just hurry up and meet me in the bathroom when you're done so I can fix your hair, asshole."

It turns out that Cartman has chosen the outfit that Craig wore to his senior prom; the outfit Craig wore for three hours, threw up in, and mistakenly packed when he moved out because he thought it was the suit he wore to his grandmother's funeral. It's a black blazer that vaguely resembles a band jacket, a black button down, and tight, black slacks that Cartman loves to make him wear because Cartman says they have to "market those long, fuckin' legs." It doesn't take Craig too long to get dressed, and he doesn't look in the mirror when he's dressed, preferring to leave it covered with the sheet he threw over it God knows how long ago.

"Took you long enough." Cartman mutters when Craig appears in the doorway of the bathroom, but when he looks Craig over, he nods his approval. He motions for Craig to sit on the toilet seat, and Craig complies listlessly. Cartman murmurs incoherent things as he runs his hands through Craig's hair, and Craig feels like he's going to doze off by the time Cartman finishes. "Done." Cartman grins proudly, handing Craig a mirror.

"Hn." Craig grunts, staring at his reflection warily. There's nothing special about his hair, really. The sides are cut a little short, and he keeps the rest long enough to have fringe bangs. He's had this hairstyle since he was 14 years old, and he doesn't plan on changing it any time soon. He's somewhat surprised that Cartman hasn't cut it for him in his sleep.

"Okay," Cartman pauses, looking conflicted. "Maybe we could put a little makeup on your-"

"No." Craig deadpans, handing the mirror back to Cartman and standing up.

"Why not?" Cartman whines, blocking the doorway. Craig towers over Cartman at a staggering 6'3", but Cartman never seems to be intimidated by him. "You look exhausted, and the paparazzi is always fuckin' pointing it out. Why can't we just cover up your dark circles?" he persists.

"Because I like to look real. I don't need to hide behind makeup. I look fine." Craig says firmly, pushing past Cartman and going downstairs. He can hear Cartman say something from behind him about him not needing pockets when he has those bags under his eyes. Craig chooses to ignore it, though, like every other rude comment directed at him.

Kenny arrives right on time, as Craig expected from a guy like Kenny, and he's wearing a tuxedo that looks like something better suited for a Red Carpet event. Kenny must be completely unaware of this, though, because he's wearing his 1,000 watt smile and seems to have actually shaved his ever-present stubble for the occasion. Craig wonders if Kenny is secretly irritated by the obvious fact that Craig didn't put much effort into getting ready, but Kenny just keeps giving him that gap tooth smile of his.

"Man, I can't wait to try the food at this joint. Kyle says that it's like an orgasm for your tongue- Well, he didn't use that exact terminology, but it was close enough." Kenny attempts to strike up a conversation with Craig, but Craig only nods to this statement, lost when it comes to small talk.

"We should get going." Craig says, tucking his hands in his pockets and walking past Kenny toward the door. He hears Kenny sigh behind him, and a part of him is irritated by this, but he continues down the steps and into Kenny's car. Kenny is right behind him, clumsily jamming the keys into the ignition and buckling his seatbelt. Craig doesn't bother to look at him, leaning his head against the window and staring at the setting sun against the buildings in the distance.

"It's beautiful, isn't it? Back in my hometown, we could see the actual horizon when the sun was setting. It was breath-taking." Kenny says, and Craig grazes his teeth over his bottom lip.

"The sky is on fire." he murmurs quietly. He had planned on saying something else entirely, but he feels like he's fishing for words in his foggy mind, scowling at himself.

"That's- Yeah, dude. Yeah." Kenny agrees with him, and when he smiles at Craig this time, it meets his eyes. Craig quickly turns away from him, nodding and swallowing down the lump in his throat.

"How far is this restaurant?" Craig changes the subject smoothly, running his bony fingers through his bangs to move them from his eyes.

"A little ways across town." Kenny answers, and Craig nods, running his tongue over his teeth the way he used to when he had braces. Kenny pulls off the curb and starts off towards the restaurant. He changes the radio to some bubblegum trash station, and Craig shoots him a dirty look. "What? You don't like Katy Perry? You have to like Katy Perry. Everyone likes Katy Perry." Kenny tells Craig, and he sounds so sure of himself; like he's checked the statistics for this.

"I don't like any music that comes on the radio." Craig says, and Kenny nods, as if anticipating this answer already.

"Yeah, I guess I expected that much. Fatass gave me a CD for you. It's in the glove compartment. Something about cold animals." Kenny explains, and Craig wonders why Cartman would give him a CD about cold animals. The fact that Kenny referred to Cartman as fatass pleases him unexpectedly, though, and he barely suppresses a smirk, snorting instead.

When he finds the CD in the glove compartment- the glorified, trash bin- under all of the McDonald's wrappers and parking tickets, he sees that it's an Arctic Monkeys CD and not some weird, Sounds of the Cold Animals CD. Kenny is watching him as if Craig is opening a Christmas present, and the corner of Craig's lip turns up ever so slightly. He pops the CD in, setting it on some random track.

"They're called Arctic Monkeys. Not Cold Animals." he corrects him, and Kenny flushes at this, scratching the back of his head.

"I was kind of, um. Drunk. When he gave it to me. So. But, yeah. Yeah, they sound good." Kenny sputters awkwardly, and Craig finds it endearing for some reason so he simply nods in response.

20 minutes pass, and Craig is growing impatient, the sounds of Arctic Monkeys not enough drown out the sounds of Kenny swallowing and other drivers honking. He begins to tap his nails against the armrest, a familiar churning in his stomach as he keeps his eyes closed tightly. He never goes out in town unless he has a show, and even then he walks because, despite common belief, traffic grates his nerves.

"What the fuck is taking so long?" Craig hisses when he feels as if he's going to explode, sitting up straighter in his seat and hitting his head on the roof of the car. Kenny is apparently amused by this because he fails miserably at stifling his snickers. "What?"

  
"Jesus, calm down, dude. Patience is a virtue." Kenny lectures, and he grins when Craig narrows his eyes at him.

"What is the point of driving cars when it's faster just to walk?" Craig questions, leaning his elbows on his knees and hunching over to keep his head from hitting the roof. "And why is your car so small?"

"Because most people aren't 8 feet tall." Kenny answers cheekily, and Craig considers getting out of the car and walking to the restaurant by himself. As if sensing Craig's irritation, Kenny quickly adds, "We should be there in just a few more minutes. You really don't get out much, do you?" Kenny asks, and Craig is unsure of whether the question is rhetorical or not. He decides to answer anyway, though, running his answer over in his mind several times before speaking.

"I jog at night." Kenny appears slightly puzzled at this answer, driving a few feet before having to stop again.

"Why at night? So the paparazzi is less likely to see you?" Kenny guesses, but Craig doesn't acknowledge it by responding. Maybe that's one reason, but maybe Craig has never cared enough to analyze why he does the things he does.

-

Craig is fairly certain that Kenny ordered at least 5 lbs of food for himself, which actually surprises Craig considering how toned Kenny appears to be. He doesn't understand how someone can stay at a healthy weight when they gorge themselves on buttered rolls and mounds of pasta. Nevertheless, Craig is content to watch him, but that may have something to do with the fact that he's finishing his second glass of their complimentary champagne. Apparently, their server is a huge fan of Kenny's and paid for their champagne herself, and Craig is vaguely amused by the fact that Kenny himself hasn't even had any of it.

"How's your food?" Kenny asks Craig after he has finished off his second pasta dish. Craig realizes that he has mostly been filling up on the alcohol so he shrugs to Kenny, picking at his fettuccini alfredo that he ordered for the simple fact that it was the only thing he recognized on the menu. "You know, you could've experimented a little. You wanna try a bite of my food?" Kenny offers, and Craig almost chokes on his alfredo.

"What?" he questions, eyes narrowed warily. Kenny rolls his eyes at him and sighs.

"You really fucking suck at acting like we're a couple." Kenny whispers, twirling his fork in some food that Craig can't pronounce the name of. "Just try one bite. I promise it won't kill you." Kenny persists, and Craig can hear Cartman's voice encouraging him to do so in the back of his mind. After a few seconds of deliberating, Craig swallows hard and nods.

"Fine." Kenny seems satisfied by this as he gets a bite on his fork and holds it out to Craig, who reluctantly takes it and clenches his fists on his thighs under the table. He's surprised by the fact that it doesn't taste awful, and he's even more surprised when Kenny dabs the corners of his mouth with a napkin. Craig resists the urge to spit the food in Kenny's face for that bold, unplanned move.

"It's good, right?" Kenny asks, giving Craig a sincere smile that makes Craig scoff. Not that he'd ever care to admit it, but he does enjoy the bold flavors more than the dull sauce of his alfredo. "I'd tell you what it is, but I don't know myself." Kenny admits, and Craig rolls his eyes, unable to decide if that statement sounds stupid or charming. He's definitely tipsy.

"You probably couldn't pronounce it anyway." Craig snickers, and Kenny grins sheepishly.

"That's how you know it's good." Kenny winks at him, and Craig can feel his stomach burning in a way that makes him have to bounce his foot slightly under the table to ignore it. He ends up eating most of Kenny's unidentified dish, and Kenny watches him with what seems to be a mixture of amusement and self satisfaction. Craig pretends he doesn't notice.

"I can't remember ever eating this much before." Craig says after he's had his fill of the wine and is now playing with the remaining morsels of food on their plates.

"Yeah, I assumed as much." Kenny says, and he continues only when Craig stares at him warily. "You're just kind of thin, y'know? I used to be kinda like that before Kyle started making me go to the gym instead of playing video games for fuck knows how many hours at a time." Kenny explains, and Craig finds himself questioning whether or not Kenny realizes how much he talks.

"I just forget to eat most of the time, I guess. I usually don't know what day it is until Clyde tells me. And then he'll make me eat a bowl of cereal or tacos or some shit like that." Craig murmurs, his words slurring ever so slightly. There's a white noise in the back of his mind that tells him to stop talking; that he needs to be more self aware, and Craig can't decide if it sounds more like screaming or whispering.

"Maybe we could start getting lunch together or something. You know, so you'll remember?" Kenny offers, and when Craig looks over at him, he looks hopeful. Craig can practically hear Cartman shouting at him to take this opportunity, and he rubs his eyes with the balls of his hands.

"Maybe, yeah." This answer must satisfy Kenny because he smiles and nods, watching Craig in a way that makes Craig uncomfortable. He shifts in his chair a bit, wishing his legs weren't too fucking long to cross inconspicuously under the table.

"Do you dye your hair?" The question catches Craig off guard, and his nose twitches slightly as he inspects a longer strand of hair that keeps falling over his eyes.

"What?"

"Just, ah. Your skin is really pale, but your hair is black. It makes you look exotic. Or, um. Pretty." Kenny says, and he seems awkward, fumbling with one of the cuffs of his suit. Craig quirks a brow slightly, staring at Kenny.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" Craig questions apathetically, though he's masking his amusement. He has never tried his hand at flirting before, too blatant and straightforward to even attempt to be coy.

"Well, I mean, kind of. But you don't have to put it like that. Jesus Christ, girls are so much easier to sweet talk." Kenny says, chuckling deeply. Craig frowns. "I mean, I guess I'm just trying to impress you. Or something like that. Kyle told me to try complimenting you, but you aren't like the girls who spend hours on their hair and wait for someone to notice." Kenny rambles, and Craig can't help but wonder if Kenny is always this transparent.

"I don't care if you compliment me or not. It means nothing either way." Craig informs him, resting his elbow on the table with his chin lazily placed on his palm. Kenny looks somewhat hurt by this, as if one of his female conquests threw her drink in his face.

"So my opinions don't matter?" Kenny asks, and Craig bets this is the first time in his career that Kenny has ever been told that his thoughts are irrelevant.

"I'm saying that your opinion of me is of the same relevance as everyone else's." Craig mutters, and Kenny looks both perturbed and amused by this.

"I guess that's fair. Still, in all honesty, you're a pretty good looking guy." Kenny tells him, and he smiles a smile that makes Craig want to believe that he's being sincere.

"Am I?" Craig wonders quietly.

"In a way." Kenny grins at him, and when their eyes meet, Craig feels like the spell will be broken if he looks away. Even as Kenny tentatively moves toward him, Craig can't seem to look away, and he can hear his blood rushing in his head. He knows what's coming; knows Kenny is going to press their lips together, and his heartbeat appears to be creating a crescendo.

But Kenny doesn't press their lips together. Their faces are so close that Craig can feel Kenny's breath on his lips, and he can see the flecks of gold in Kenny's azure eyes. He forgets to breathe as Kenny leans closer, and his stomach drops from his throat when Kenny leans upward and presses his lips to Craig's forehead.

A surge rushes through his chest, and he feels as though he's going to be sick, his hands shaking and the blood draining from his face. Someone is digging their nails into his heart, he's sure of it, and his eyes sting from the sensation. It hurts, and he feels like he's drowning, but it's something real; a raw, fervent feeling like the one he gets when he plays his bass for so long that his fingers bruise and bleed.

"Dude, Craig," Craig looks across the table at Kenny, who is staring at him with a combination of fear and concern. "Are you ok?" he presses, and Craig's throat is too dry for him to do anything other than to stare at Kenny with what he's sure is a stupid look on his face. Kenny's worry is almost tangible as he looks back at Craig with those tragic, blue eyes, and he places his hand over Craig's. "Dude, answer me." Kenny murmurs, giving Craig's trembling fingers a gentle squeeze and rubbing his thumb over the back of Craig's hand.

Craig can't understand why, but he can feel his heart rate slowing back down, his shoulders lowering and his muscles relaxing. It's somewhat alarming, but he's suddenly very, very exhausted, and he doesn't want to try to question it. He doesn't want to think about anything anymore.

"I'm tired." Craig tells Kenny, surprised by how hoarse his voice sounds. He scowls at the motherly look on Kenny's face, wishing Kenny would just go back to that obnoxious grin of his, but Kenny doesn't seem phased.

"Okay. I'll drive you home."

-

The drive back to Craig's house is strained and awkward, but it's mostly because Kenny keeps conspicuously stealing glances at him through the corners of his eyes. Kenny turns the radio to some pop station, presumably to get a rise out of Craig, but Craig doesn't say anything. He is only half listening to Katy Perry as they fight the heavy traffic, and he actually manages to sleep for a bit before they arrive at their destination.

"Call me later so we can discuss lunch, okay?" Kenny says when he's parked outside Craig's house and Craig is unbuckling his seat belt.

"Hn." Craig grunts in reply, his eyelids heavy.

He knows he's going to get a bunch of shit from Cartman later if the press says anything about Craig fucking up the kiss, and he knows Kenny is probably feeling incredibly rejected, but he can't bring himself to care. So he doesn't bother thinking about it. He doesn't think about it when he spends an hour and a half sitting under the shower head, and he doesn't think about it when he's getting ready for bed. The only time he allows himself to think about it is when Clyde crawls into bed with him to ask him about his date, and he's relieved when Clyde settles for running his fingers through his hair and humming as Craig dozes off in lieu of hugging him.

**  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Inspiration or Mention: Sleepwalking by This Wild Life


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello you guys, sorry for not updating in so long. RL has been kind of tough as of late. Anyways. This chapter is unbeta'd because I wanted to just put it up and surprise Skylar, lol. He's been waiting patiently for me to write this chapter for awhile.

Kenny doesn't really think it's required of him to spend time with Craig after everything is said and done. It's not really required for him to talk to him on a frequent basis. They're not friends, that's not the deal. When they're done doing their job, they go back to their lives. However, Kenny feels a bit unsteady on his feet after their most recent date. Craig Tucker is a strange man. A part of him still wants to find a thread inside of the other male and unravel it, find out where it leads him. Though now he's not entirely sure of the motives behind that, anymore.

 

New York is the city that never sleeps. The stars don't shine, instead there are the lights from the life in the enormous towers. Kenny looks down from his balcony at the crowd of people in the big city and wonders if Craig never sleeps with it. He always looks so tired. A cigarette is pinched between two fingers, reaching the end of it's use. He rids of it, letting it burn out in an ash tray that his sister had made him one year.

 

Craig hasn't returned his calls, or his texts in the past week. The kiss he pressed to the others forehead blew up, taken surprisingly well by the media.

 

Apparently it made them seem more 'genuine'.

 

Kenny pulls the screen door to his balcony closed. He lets his gaze fall down on his cellphone, where he sees he has not received any new texts. Whatever. It's not like his and Craig's relationship is real, anyways.

* * *

 

It's been close to a week and Craig still hasn't contacted him. Kenny tries to not care. And he doesn't. Really, he doesn't. But he doesn't like to be ignored either, by anyone. Always one for up front confrontation. So this is why he stands in front of the stoic male's apartment complex. Kenny let's out a sigh as he presses to buzz up to the apartment.

 

“Who is this?” comes a nasally voice that Kenny only knows from watching interviews. Clyde Donovan. The lead singer of the lasers.

 

“Uh, Kenny. Dude. Let me up, I need to talk to Craig.” There is a long pause, and then the sound of the door unlocking.

  
Kyle had given Kenny the apartment number and address to where Craig lived a few weeks back and he still had the text among many others. Though it was a bit difficult to find it was still somehow there among emoticons and videos they send back and forth.

 

Kenny walks the distance from the lobby to the number he scribbled onto his flesh with pen in a haste. When he finds it, he raises a hand and knocks. Retreating and stuffing said fist into his pockets as the song of the door knob being twisted open has been sung.

 

He expects Craig, but he gets Clyde. He's rather short, Kenny's got an inch or two on him. And has thick arms, legs and torso. Clyde is not nearly as big as Cartman, though. Uncomfortable, Kenny walks into the apartment as the brunette leaves the door open for him to enter.

 

“Where's Craig?” He inquires, non nonchalant. Clyde has his back turned to him as he digs in the refrigerator. He emerges with two beers. One he tosses to Kenny who catches it with ease. The other Clyde keeps in his hands, pressing the aluminum opening with the little latch. Kenny turns the can over in his hands, not really in the mood to drink. Clyde seems like the type of guy who is always down to, though.

 

“He sometimes goes out during the night.” Clyde says it with a grin, but Kenny can see he's keeping a bit of reserve, as if he's wary of him. Kenny briefly remembers what Craig said the night before, about how he jogs at night and wonders if that is what he's up to. Either way, he's not here and that's obvious.

 

“Er, right.” Kenny says, shifting uncomfortably. Clyde grins at him before taking a sip of the alcohol.

 

“So dude, you're Craig's er...PR boyfriend?” Clyde inquires. His blue eyes roam Kenny as if looking for some flaw. Kenny rests a hand on the back of his neck, rubbing it.

 

“Well, yeah.” he mumbles, unsure of where Clyde is going with this. The brunette is frowning now, though it is short lived. In that moment he looked a bit displeased, distrusting, however a smile slowly forms back onto his face.

 

“Sweet. I just wanted to meet you, dude. I've got to go.” he says as he gulps down the rest of his beverage. He discards the garbage, going to pick up his guitar case from where it is rested against the wall. It's a battered looking thing with all types of patches with band logos on it. From Black Flag to Modern Baseball and so on. Words fall out of Kenny's mouth, putting Clyde to a halt as he zips it up.

 

“Wait—tell Craig that Kyle set up a date tomorrow morning. At my apartment.” Kenny lies through his teeth. It was almost involuntary, he said it without a thought. Clyde looks up at him as he slings the guitar case onto his back.

 

“Sure thing.” Clyde starts, he winks at Kenny, walking towards the door. Before he goes to step out into the hallway he looks over his shoulder at Kenny.  
  
“By the way,” Clyde starts, eyes flicking to Kenny's countenance.  
  
“If you fucking hurt him, I'll make sure you'll regret it.”

* * *

 

“Kyle, is this really fucking necessary?” Kenny laughs out as he watches Kyle gingerly place a bottle of liquor onto the counter. The frizzed haired male lets his gaze fall on Kenny, he looks pissed, but goes over to the coat rack to pull his ugly orange and green jacket off it's hook.

 

“It's not for you, asshat.” he says as he pushes his arms through the sleeves of his jacket. At this Kenny's brows furrow in confusion. Kyle's not the one who has to face his fake lover after not being confronted for a week.  
  
“Oh?” Kyle seldom drinks, so Kenny couldn't even begin to fathom what's got to him. Kyle just pinches the bridge between his eyebrows.

 

“You're not the only one with a hot date. Jesus fucking Christ, Kenny. Just. Try to have fun today, even if you have to spend it with Craig.” Kyle mumbles out as he grabs the liquor bottle by the neck, pulling open the refrigerator and stuffing it inside among the boxes of leftovers.

 

Without an exchange of words Kenny watches from his seat on the couch as Kyle walks the distance from the fridge to the door and pulls it closed behind him. Leaving his booze for when he returns later that night.

 

Kenny is briefly shocked by the news that his best friend is pursuing someone. He further begins to wonder what kind of girl Kyle is going to that's got his panties so bunched up, but he doesn't dwell on it. That's another inquiry for another day.

 

It's 8AM and Kenny quickly sent a text to the said male the night before that he and Craig had a 'date'. It was ill planned, but the idea was that he and Craig would watch some old concerts of the Lasers, and some of Kenny's hit movies. This way they'd have more information about each other if they were interviewed.

 

Kenny sits and languidly scrolls down his news feed on twitter. Seeing more tweets about the 'kiss'. He feels hot in the face as he remembers what Clyde Donovan said to him the night before. Kenny doubts he'd be capable of hurting Craig. While the other male seems to come to a bit of tolerance of him he doesn't appear to like him, or care what he thinks. The reaction to the kiss seemed to be some kind of inner conflict that Kenny couldn't really decipher. It probably had little to do with the fact that it was Kenny's lips pressed to Craig's skin. It makes Kenny frustrated, heated and curious.

 

A yawn escapes Kenny's lips, and speaking of the devil, the sound of the buzzer breaks his haze of thought.

 

Stretching like a cat, a little groggy from having to wake up so early, he presses down on the speakers button.

 

“Come up man, it's unlocked.” he says into the microphone.

 

There is a short gap of time waiting for Craig. Kenny fills it by shooting a text to his brother, whom he seldom talked to in the passed week. It was a rarity to be out of touch with his siblings. Usually he face times Karen every night on the little iphone 5 he had gotten her for Christmas the year prior. Kenny just has had been consumed with the busy life of an actor and the talk of a sequel of his most recent franchise. By the time he's adding a period to the end of his sentence Kenny can hear the twisting of his doorknob. He looks up and there Craig stands in all his long limb glory.

 

The silence that falls among them is thick. Kenny hesitates to let a smile form on his lips as he stuffs his phone into his pocket. Craig doesn't even try to humor that. His sleepy, half lidded eyes stare into Kenny's blues. It makes Kenny uncomfortable and he looks to the side of Craig instead of directly into those seeing, focused orbs.

 

“Welcome to my humble abode.” Kenny sing songs, breaking the silence as he turns on his bare heels. He leads the way to the living room where there are movies scattered across the table in front of the couch. His hand reaches up to scratch at the stubble on his chin as he picks up one of the dvds. He had forgotten to shave the past few days.

 

Craig doesn't say anything in response, opting to take a seat on Kenny's couch. Kenny sets the movie up, his first film. The horror film that made his inevitable deaths in theater come to a start. If there was anything Craig should know, it should be where it began. As the cheesy advertisments to indie films start up, Kenny stands from where he's crouched in front of the entertainment system. He plops down next to Craig, slinging an arm around him from behind.

 

As expected, Craig pauses in discomfort. There is a few seconds spent again in that uncomfortable, sticky silence. Eventually Craig gingerly lifts Kenny's arm off of him, scooting to the other end of the couch. Kenny tries not to appear annoyed, instead pressing the fast forward button with the remote to the dvd player. The menu to the flick fades in, and the eerie music begins to emit from the speakers of the tv.

 

Craig lets out a snort, and Kenny turns his head to the other males direction. He has his elbow pressed against the arm of the sofa, head rested in his palm. His attention is steady on the screen, however.

 

“What?” Kenny inquires. Looking at the thin, tall male. Craig doesn't look at him, though.

 

“Just press play.” Craig says in such an effortlessly uncaring tone. Kenny wishes he could crawl into his skin and listen to the sound of the other males thoughts, feel what's inside his bones, his heart, his mind, his skin.

 

Frustrated, Kenny presses his thumb down on the play button and the movie begins.

 

It's set in some no where town with twenty year olds playing the role of teenagers, a cliché high school horror film. Kenny's seen it a million times. Remembers playing the role of the silent hero. The one who dies last, trying to get everyone to safety and watching it all crumble to his feet. In the end his character only manages to let his on screen girlfriend escape while he has to fend for himself against whatever evil spirit takes his life.

 

He watches as the camera slowly begins to zoom in on his face, perspiring, dirty and bruised. Watches as his character takes his last breathe.

 

As the credits begin to roll Craig immediately stands, making his way to the balcony of Kenny's apartment.

 

Kenny watches his movements, watches as Craig lights up a cigarette. He stands and follows the other males footsteps, stepping out onto the balcony. Craig's gaze is firmly on the city life below.

 

“What did you think?” Kenny questions. Craig takes a drag of his cancer stick, quiet. Kenny almost doesn't expect him to respond. Even if the week prior he did share quite a bit more than expected. Kenny leans against the railing, staring out at the tall buildings and life as well.

 

“Do you always have to have such an altruistic characterization?” Craig inquires, and it makes Kenny do a double take.

  
It takes him a few moments before he goes to open his mouth in a response, but in that instant he hears the buzzing in his pocket signaling that someone is calling. He holds up a finger to say 'give me a second'. Kenny steps back in the apartment, taking a look at his caller ID To see it is Karen Mccormick.

 

Quickly, he answers the call. The screen loads up and there she is, Kenny's little sister with her big, cheeky smile. Kenny can't help but grin back at the gap teeth that he is presented with. The light brown, maybe sandy blond hair and freckled skin.

 

“Kenny!” she announces happily. She seems to be looking for something because there is the sound of shuffling and she placed her phone down. Eventually her face emerges from the corner of the screen and she picks the device back up.

 

“you didn't tell me you had a boyfriend!” she exclaims happily, holding up a magazine with their photo. The one from the arcade, where Kenny flips off the paparazzi. Kenny laughs nervously in response, looking over his shoulder to Craig who is still on the balcony, probably listening in.

 

“Yeah, it's a long story.” he explains. Karen rolls her eyes at him, putting the magazine down.

 

“Yeah, well Kevin wants to talk to you. I'll call you back later tonight because I am going out with Ike.” She chirps, Kenny goes to ask when she and Ike starting hanging out, but the screen is dark from Karen covering the camera with her hands as she passes the phone to Kevin.

 

By this time Craig is back in the living room and is sitting on the couch, in the same position he was when they were watching the movie. Only now he seems to be resting his eyes, black lashes rested on pale skin.

 

“Hey, little bro.” it drags Kenny's attention back to face time where Kevin gazes at his face through the technology. Kenny smiles with half of a heart. He loves his older brother for taking care of Karen, but the two didn't really get on that well.

 

“Hey.” he responds, Kevin appears to be stirring something on the stove. As he placed the phone down, angling it so he can cook and talk at the same time.

 

“Listen, I know you're busy in New York.” Kevin starts as he places the a lid on top of a pot. Him saying this makes something stir inside of Kenny, a familiar, overwhelming fear of suffocating anxiety. Kevin picks the phone up again and walks a short distance until he's sitting. He continues.

 

“But dad is in rehab again.”  
  
Kenny bites at his lower lip and turns to walk outside, closing the screen door. He shouldn't be surprised, he really shouldn't. But everything seemed to be going so well. Both his mom and dad were working the program, getting help with the money Kenny invested in them going to a facility.

 

Kevin can sense the sinking Kenny is feeling, the inner turmoil. All too used to it.

 

“Listen, you know how mom and dad are. We're fine over here. I'm just letting you know.”

 

“I know. I'll send money, okay?” Kenny says. It's all he can do, Kenny remembers always protecting his sister. From bullies, from his parents, from hunger and anything she needs. He remembers cleaning up his parents messes, he remembers pulling the covers over his father after he'd stumble in drunk from the bar. Kevin lets out a sigh on the other line, and the call drops.

 

He shoves his phone in his pocket and looks down at the poorly constructed ash tray his sister gave him when he was a senior in high school and she was just starting middle school. It's conflicting, because now he has the money to take care of everyone and himself. But he can't be there physically to be the good son and brother.

 

Knowing he has to return to Craig, he turns, only to be face to face with the quiet male. It startles Kenny at first, but he tries to force a smile.

 

“Sorry about that.” he apologizes. Craig blinks and tilts his head, gaze not on him, looking past him.

 

Eventually Kenny shrugs it off as Craig and goes to lean against the railing himself. Kenny plops down in one of the lawn chairs he had put outside, and they stay in each others company. The sound of cars and ambulances filling the gap of quiet.

 

Kenny bounces thought after thought through his head as Craig looks down at the length of the balcony to the ground. He looks deeply in contemplation of something, himself. Craig is still, and Kenny looks at him without seeing. That is, until he begins to move and Kenny watches as the other male climbs up onto the railing. He stands unsteady with two feet on the bar. Kenny shoots up, his heart beat quickens, he instantly grabs onto the others arm as he tries to stumble out a coherent sentence.

 

“What the fuck are you doing!” he shouts out. Craig looks like he's in a daze and he doesn't stumble, stares down at that drop that he's so dangerously close to falling.

 

“You can't be everyone's hero.” Kenny looks up at him as he says it. It's almost like Craig didn't say it to him, he's not even looking at him, but it was still clear as day. Nasal and sure.

 

“I could die in any moment. Whether it be from dropping from this balcony or a heart attack. But either way, you couldn't save me.” He looks over his shoulder to Kenny now, who is breathing out heavily and quivering. Craig steps down from the railing and looks Kenny straight in the face.

 

In that moment Kenny feels extremely close to Craig. The feeling of wanting to get under his skin overwhelms him. Kenny's fingers don't unwrap from around his arm, instead dropping to curl around Craig's hand. He gulps down the oxygen he didn't know he deprived of. He feels the expected tensing of Craig beneath his touch. But it loosens. They stand like that, Kenny staring at Craig's face, running circles into his flesh with his thumb. Craig looking down at him from his tall height with half lidded eyes.

 

When the spell is broken by the sound of an ambulance Craig yanks his hand out of Kenny's grasp.

 

“What other movies do you have?”

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, redrocketracer here. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I did when I first read it. Skylar still doesn't know how to use this website, lol.

The stench of hair chemicals is significantly less repulsive after one has been breathing the tainted air for half an hour. It reminds Craig of Monday mornings spent helping his sister achieve the latest hair craze the middle schoolers were obsessing over that week. But this is no Monday morning, and when Craig looks back on this memory, he won't smile fondly or ache with nostalgia.

 

It's a Saturday night, and he's sitting on the toilet of his shared bathroom with Eric Cartman's lubricated fingers tangled in his hair. By this time, Craig is feeling both anxious and agitated as Eric's nails rake over his scalp. _You have to look great on camera tonight_ , Eric had persisted earlier that evening when Craig was lounging on the couch in his PJs. _This is the first time you've ever interacted with your fans._

 

"Done!" Eric exclaims, clasping his pudgy hands together and grinning widely. Craig has allowed him to be the style guru tonight, and that's why Craig is wearing a black, denim vest and leather jeans. "The chicks are gonna go fuckin' nuts over this shit." Eric boasts crudely, thrusting a hand-held mirror towards Craig, who takes it warily.

 

"I look like a greaser from the 80s." Craig remarks flatly, inspecting his face carefully. He's not used to seeing his forehead, but he has to admit that Cartman has done a fine job styling his eyebrows.

 

"No, you look like a guy who's gonna make it big with your fangirls tonight, Tucker." Eric corrects, roughly shoving his styling products back into his bag as Craig stands from the toilet. Eric looks rather dressed up tonight as well, but Craig doesn't choose to mention this to Eric. "Remember, let Kinny take the lead on this one. He knows how to get their pussies all lubed u-"

 

"God," Craig scoffs, wrinkling his nose and pushing past Cartman to put his boots on downstairs. "All I have to do is answer some questions." Craig murmurs, taking a seat on the sofa downstairs and lacing up his boots. It's not that simple, though. This is Craig's first live stream, and he isn't so keen on the idea of letting strangers ask him personal questions so his answers can be broadcasted over the internet. Apparently, Kenny does this regularly.

 

"Right, but you have to answer them in a way that doesn't make you look like a total dick." Cartman snorts, impatiently ushering Craig out the door of the apartment and to the taxi waiting below. "Don't fuck this up, asshole."

 

"Whatever."

 

* * *

The ride to Kenny's apartment isn't at all long enough for Craig to mentally prepare himself for the torture to come, and he turns the key to Kenny's apartment over in his hands as he stares up the flight of stairs. He feels falsly masked by the makeup and pretentious clothes, but somehow, he also feels over exposed; naked without his usual mask of indifference evident by his uniform, careless appearance.

 

Awkwardly, he jams the key into the doorknob and opens the door, his eyes immediately landing on Kenny, who seems to be setting up a tripod on his coffee table. Since Kenny pays him no mind, Craig closes the door and goes to sit on the sofa in front of the camera and tripod. His palms are sweaty, and he feels a bit ill, but he's sure the makeup will conceal any green in his complexion.

 

"So," Kenny stands up and places his hands on his hips, looking satisfied with the set up. "The livestream starts in 2 minutes. They'll send us questions through the chat on the left hand side of the screen," Kenny explains, pointing to the chat log and taking a seat beside Craig on the couch. "Simple as that."

 

"What if I don't want to answer a question?" Craig asks, wrapping his arms around himself and frowning at the screen. Kenny sighs, giving Craig an exasperated look.

 

"Dude, you're gonna have to put in some effort for this to be a success. This is the first time you've interacted with your fans, and you need to be well-received. Just give it your best shot." Kenny encourages a bit impatiently before adding a smile. "They'll appreciate it." Craig only grunts in reply, running his fingers through his bangs to keep them out of his face.

 

"Just start the stream already, McCormick." Craig mutters, leaning back into the sofa and folding his arms over his chest. Kenny turns the webcam on, and when he drapes his arm around Craig's shoulders, Craig instinctively leans into him.

 

"Hey, guys! We're really excited to do the first Crenny livestream- especially since this is Craig's first livestream- so we hope you guys are ready to hit us with your best questions! We're totally ready to answer them." Kenny chirps with that charming smile of his, and Craig tries to refrain from scowling.

The first question comes up in mere seconds. _@Craig and @Kenny Who is your celebrity crush?_ Craig thinks the question is quite tame, and he feels the muscles in his shoulders relax.

 

"Emma Watson all the way." Kenny answers immediately, and Craig snorts.

 

"Fuck you. Emma Watson doesn't have shit on Brendon Urie." Craig retorts flatly, though he can feel the corners of his lips tilting upward into a smirk when he sees people in the chat agreeing with him.

 

"Whatever, dude. Emma's a fuckin' babe, alright?" Kenny snickers, and Craig simply shrugs in response.

 

_@Crenny What are your sexualities and what do you find attractive in a potential partner?_

 

"It's a well known fact that I'm pansexual," Kenny starts, and Craig is happy to let Kenny take the lead on this one because it's a little deeper than the first question. "Physically I find tattoos really attractive. Personality wise, I find it really attractive when someone is brutally honest with me. Like, don't sugarcoat yourself for me, honey. I can take whatever you throw at me." Kenny boasts with a charismatic wink to the camera, and Craig can feel the fruit cocktail he had for dinner churning in his stomach. _You don't have to go into detail. Just follow his lead,_ Craig tells himself, licking his chapped lips.

 

"I'd say I'm asexual," A pause. "For the most part, anyway." Craig scowls when Kenny nudges him, but he resists a snicker when he sees Kenny grinning lewdly in his peripheral vision. "So I don't usually take interest in anyone as a potential partner." Craig finishes his answer, shakily and discreetly letting out a breath of relief. He's absurdly proud of himself for his brief but honest answers even though he knows Cartman is probably watching from some unknown location, cursing Craig for not giving his fans lies dipped in melted chocolate.

 

 _@Craig What attracted you to Kenny?_ Of course that's the next question to come in, of fucking course. Still, Craig isn't quite as prepared for this one, and he finds his mind blanking on any possible response. _Give them something. Give them anything. Give them what they want, Craig Tucker._

"The first time I met him, he didn't hesitate to treat me like I deserved to be treated. I was an asshole to him, and he was an asshole right back. That sounds like a turn off, but I found it charming." Craig answers, and he wonders if he's being honest. The words fell off his tongue so effortlessly; surely they must hold _some_ truth. Kenny seems surprised by this answer by the way his azure eyes go wide, but he quickly breaks into his signature grin.

 

"You found _me_ charming." Kenny corrects smugly, and somehow Craig doesn't flinch when Kenny lightly nips Craig's cheek with his teeth; _somehow_ Craig only snorts and rolls his eyes, and he feels like his heart is punching him in the chest with every beat. _That wasn't too bad so calm the fuck down,_ Craig scolds himself, folding his arms over his chest to keep his hands from shaking visibly.

 

"Whatever." he snorts, resting his eyes. "Read me the next one."

 

* * *

The questions go from incredibly lewd and depraved to shallow and innocent, but Craig manages to answer the majority of them without being _too_ curt, though he retains a certain amount of blatancy. Kenny saves him on a few questions when he chokes and can't find the right words to say, and it feels like an eternity before they're nearing the hour mark. _Almost over_ , Craig assures himself, curled into Kenny's side at this point. Maybe he initiated it. Maybe Kenny used his suave charm to coaxe Craig into his chest. Craig doesn't want to think about it.

 

 _@Crenny What was high school like for you guys?_ Craig doesn't know why he hasn't anticipated this question yet. Somewhere in his mind, he knew this question was coming. He had to have known someone would ask about school so why is he so fucking startled by it?

 

"I grew up pretty poor. Like, so poor we didn't have food half the time, and the other half the time, we were eating Poptarts." Kenny says, and the way his voice softens when he speaks captivates Craig's attention. Kenny slides his fingers between Craig's, and Craig doesn't know what drives him to do so, but he gives Kenny's hand a reassuring squeeze. "So when I was in high school, I spent most of my time working to keep my brother and sister fed. My grades were so shitty it was just sad. My best friend Kyle was really the only reason I didn't fail all my classes." Kenny admits, and Craig has no doubt in his mind that Kenny is being honest; so fucking honest that Craig aches for him.

 

"Kyle...Your manager?" Craig inquires, though he mostly meant to ask that question in his head.

 

"Yeah," Kenny's lips tilt upward into a smile, and the incessant chat replies pause as if the thousands of people tuning in have all simultaneously paused to listen to Kenny speak. _How does he do it?_ "He was also the reason I didn't starve to death. It was rough in high school, and I don't think I got all that I should have out of the experience...But it made me the man I am today." Kenny finishes, smiling fondly, and Craig is uncomfortable and sick. He instinctively moves away from Kenny's side and sits up straighter, fingers twitching as he prepares his own answer. _Why do I have to be so fucking honest all the time?_

 

"I dropped out my senior year. I was barely there the majority of the time anyway." _Breathe._ "I spent most of my time being angry." Craig's voice is trembling, and it's pathetic. Now Kenny is squeezing his hand for reassurance. Now the chat has paused to hear him speak. But it isn't the same. "I started to, ah. I did some. Awful things, and. I focused on playing bass, mostly. In my basement. Alone. Always alone." Everything is too quiet, and Craig feels like he's going to drown on the tears that can't find their ways to his eyes. Kenny is watching him with rapt attention, and the concern on his face repulses Craig. Or maybe he's repulsed by himself.

 

"Why were you so angry, dude?" Kenny asks quietly, and that's it. There's too much grease in his hair and too much makeup on his face and too much skin showing on his arms and too much food in his stomach. It's all too much, and disgust overwhelms Craig when he abruptly stands and makes a run for Kenny's balcony, knocking over the tripod in his thoughtless escape. He can hear Kenny calling his name behind him, but it doesn't matter. Nothing fucking matters.

 

Vomit collides with the sidewalk below Kenny's apartment, and the metal railing of the balcony grinds into Craig's abdomen as he heaves. The cool air floods his nostrils and numbs his face, and he can feel the cold seeping through his pores, numbing the rest of him. He feels relieved. Empty. Hollow. Exhausted. Kenny comes rushing up to him like the altruistic hero he is, but he doesn't touch Craig. He's scared, and Craig can sense it.

 

"You did good tonight, Craig." Kenny whispers, and it's so soft that Craig almost thinks he's imagined it. But he does hear it, and he lets out a hoarse, humourless laugh. "No, I mean it." Kenny reiterates sternly. "I'm proud of you. You did better than I thought you would."

 

"Stop." Craig murmurs, sinking to the floor and resting his head on his knees. He doesn't want to hear the flawless knight in all his glory patronise him with his stupid compliments. And Kenny does stop. Craig hears the glass door to the balcony close behind him, but he doesn't lift his head.

 

He doesn't know how long Kenny is gone, but when Kenny returns, he comes bearing a warm wash cloth and a mug of hot chocolate. Craig can't even find it in himself to scoff at Kenny's act of kindness, instead allowing Kenny to dab the wash cloth to his forehead while he sips on the hot chocolate. Neither of them speak for a while, and it's a tense silence but not an unwelcomed one. Craig eventually ends up lying on the ground with his head on Kenny's lap, feeling delirious and uncomfortably exposed.

 

"I was adopted." Craig decides to mention.

 

"What?" Kenny asks, seemingly taken aback by this confession.

 

"That's why I was angry. My mom and step dad adopted me when I was 6, but the damage was already done. So I was angry." Craig continues, and he closes his eyes, listening to the sound of Kenny's breathing and trying to calm his churning stomach.

 

"Damage can be done, but it can also be repaired." Kenny says wisely, and Craig can't refrain from opening his eyes for the sole purpose of rolling them at that statement. "C'mon, Tucker. Let's get you back home and in bed. You did good today. I'm proud of you." And maybe Craig almost believes him when he says it this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by LucienDeLorne


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> redrocketracer here. This story is blowing up and I don't think we were expecting it...but thank you, really. We appreciate it! Enjoy this chapter.

 

The weather is progressively getting colder in New York City, Kenny notices as he tugs his orange parka tighter around his body. It's an ugly, blinding thing; something that he's had since he was in high school. The garment has been kept in his wardrobe despite how unappealing people tell him it is.

  
  


The chilly air of the mid October bites at Kenny's cheeks, and he taps out the cigarette he's been smoking into that oblong ashtray his sister made. Deciding that he'd rather be warm than smoke, he pulls the glass door to his balcony closed, stepping into the warmth of his apartment. Kyle is seated on the couch, typing something into his laptop. Kenny opts to ignore this and goes to pull a cartoon of milk out of the fridge, taking a whiff of it and deciding against taking a sip. He shoves it back in, rummaging around to find something else to drink.

  
  


“You know, the live feed you guys did last week has stirred quite a response in the fan base.” Kyle starts before clicking on something and letting out a huff. Kenny closes the door to the refrigerator, languidly closing the distance between him and the couch. His eyes fall on Kyle's laptop as he looks over the red head's shoulder.

  
  


Pulled up on Kyle's screen is some article about the live feed and how the fans are going crazy with the dramatic turn of the night. Kenny recalls it all too well. Craig has been giving him the silent treatment since then. Kenny persisted with texts sent his way as well as a few phone calls but to no avail. It's like they took one step forward only to take two steps back. Kenny knows that Craig can only avoid him for so long because, realistically, this is his career on the line. Cartman will probably call within a few days requesting they do something to catch media attention.

  
  


Kyle lets out a hum and closes his computer as Kenny takes his seat next to him, quiet and thoughtful. The silence is quite thick, and, eventually after sitting with the sound of a clock ticking and blood pumping, Kyle cuts through it, seemingly unnerved.

  
  


“So is Craig really as much of a challenge as you thought?” Kyle questions. Kenny blinks and looks in his direction. It dawns on him now, the intent he had going into this; exposing Craig Tucker for whatever he is. It makes Kenny kind of heated in the face; ashamed. He remembers the information exposed to him that night about Craig being adopted; remembers the adrenaline of wanting to just sit down with him, press the cold towel to his head, and make him feel alright; let him know there are people who understand, and that that's what makes people feel closer; be the hero figure of the night. He also remembers holding onto Craig's arm a few weeks prior to that and feeling a closeness he couldn't explain.

  
  


Kenny wonders if Craig even considers him a friend. Somewhere along the way he has begun to feel like one.

  
  


He's at a loss of how to explain any of that to Kyle. He's fucking tongue tied;  _scatterbrained_ .

  
  


“Yeah, he is.” Kenny doesn't elaborate, though. He looks at Kyle's freckle-kissed countenance. His eyes are staring at Kenny's face, and Kenny can tell Kyle wants him to further explain, but there is nothing he can say. Craig's life is not Kenny's to expose. He realizes this now. When this is all said and done, they'll probably part with their needs achieved. Craig's secrets will still be intact, and perhaps he'll leave with a better reputation.

  
  


Kenny lets out a nervous chuckle and playfully punches Kyle's shoulder.

  
  


“So, you never told me who your hot date was.” Kenny changes the topic, and at this, the frizzy haired male rolls his eyes, obviously annoyed by the thought of it. It makes Kenny even more curious.

  
  


“It wasn't a date, Jesus fucking Christ. I just went out and discussed a few things with Fatass. I was _joking_.” Kenny raises an eyebrow at that one, but a grin still adorns his countenance.

  
  


“You went out with Eric fucking Cartman?” Kenny prods, amused. He lets out a laugh, his expression displaying his disbelief at the information. Kyle is turning red and punches Kenny's arm, outwardly embarrassed.

  
  


“Come on, it's not that funny! It was just to discuss yours and Craig's next few dates. He's a racist asshole, and you know I don't like him!” Kenny shakes his head, laughing harder. Kyle clenches his fists, and Kenny calms down a bit, not wanting to get decked. He's shaking a bit, but he wipes at his eyes.

  
  


“You done laughing now, Asshat?” Kyle questions, not amused. Kenny just shakes his head in disapproval, covering his mouth with his hand.

  
  


“I'm good.”

  
  


“Good, because since we're speaking about that asshole, he wants to set up a double date for you two, Stan Marsh, and Wendy Testaburger.”

  
  


Kenny straightens up at that, and his eyes dart to his cellphone in his hands, where the texts he sent to Craig remain unanswered. He doesn't outwardly say _, "good"_ , but Kenny is pretty sure something about his body language conveys it because Kyle looks at him a bit curiously.

  
  


“I. That'd be good. When?”

  
  


* * *

 

 

Stan Marsh and Wendy Testaburger were the biggest power couple to hit the celebrity world. Ever. The two worked as childhood stars together on a television show as star crossed lovers. They grew up in the industry and were now getting married in showbiz. Kenny always assumed their love was genuine and real. That illusion was shattered when Kenny and Craig's relationship kicked off.

However, it was hard to tell with the two, they seemed so true and honest. Kenny thinks this now as he sits in a cafe by Central Park, looking at pictures of the couple on his cellphone. Craig is supposed to meet him here an hour before Stan and Wendy come. It's crowded, loud and bustling. However, Kenny picks out the tall, long legged male from amongst the crowd. He's been waiting for him for an extra 20 minutes, earlier than usual. They were to meet at 12, and Craig is here on the dot.

  
  


Kenny watches his movements as he weaves his way past nameless people.

  
  


The bell that signals a customer jingles as Craig pulls open the door, stepping into the cafe. When Kenny walked in the scent of coffee and cinnamon assaulted his nostrils, and he wonders if Craig is bothered by the sickly sweet scent. Kenny stuffs his cellphone in his pocket and takes in Craig as he sits across from him.

  
  


He's back to his usual attire and hairstyle. The dark haired male gave Kenny a weird, tingly feeling in his gut the night of the live stream. The exposure of Craig's arms, his hair styled, dressed so differently for public eye. Something about it made him uncomfortable. Perhaps it was because he could tell how unlike himself Craig felt.

  
  


“Tucker.” Kenny greets.

  
  


Craig stares at him with those all too seeing eyes that make Kenny's skin crawl, but instead of backing down this time, he stares back. Kenny's heart thumps in his ears, his lips feel dry and his tonuge darts out to moisten them.

  
  


“McCormick.”

  
  


There is so much noise surrounding them. The sounds of kids laughing, fellow cafe dwellers talking among themselves, drinks being mixed together. It's Craig that looks away first this time, staring out the window at Central Park. Kenny's mouth parts, and he feels his own words stuck behind them, laying on his tongue.

  
  


“Why do you always look at me like that?” Craig's face turns to him now, and he's staring at him again. Kenny feels on fire at the attention, but he doesn't turn away.

  
  


“Like what?” Craig inquires, nasal and level. Kenny's brow furrows because there is no way in Hell Craig can look at him the way he does and not know he's doing it. Kenny's hand reaches up to lay on his neck, and he scratches at it, a nervous tick.

  
  


“Like I'm nothing, like I'm the dirt beneath your feet,” He's a bit heated now, frustration evident in his voice. He's paused now, and Craig's examining him, looking him over.

  
  


“Like you can see through me.” The sharp, blue eyed boy lets a snort out at that, and those orbs are being shielded by his eyelids. Craig leans forward a bit, resting his chin on his palm.

  
  


“It doesn't mean anything.” he answers. Kenny wants to call bullshit on that, but as he goes to open his mouth, Stan Marsh is pulling out the chair next to him. It startles him at first, and he turns his head in his direction. Wendy mirrors his actions by taking a seat next to Craig.

  
  


Stan looks similar to Craig in the way that they both have dark hair and pale skin. Stan's a lot stockier than Craig, though. Wendy is fiercely beautiful with dark hair and golden skin, build small for such a ferocious appearance. Her eyes are a chocolate brown, and her face glows, smile adorning her features. She beams at the two of them and opens her mouth to speak.

  
  


“It's really a pleasure to meet you two.” she says, and Kenny wonders if she was told to say that or if it's true. Stan nods his head as she says it and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his brown coat.

  
  


“Yeah, dude. It's great. We needed to meet more couples in the business.” His cheeks are wind bitten and red, but it only makes him look more boyish and casual; Stan's signature look. Wendy has a cup of coffee in her hands, and she turns to Craig, who is looking thoroughly uninterested, and she slides it towards him.

  
  


“I'm not going to drink it, and you strike me as a coffee man.” she chirps, and to Kenny's surprise, Craig takes it with a quiet ' _thank you_ '.

  
  


“I was thinking we could go to Central Park? I mean, if you guys want.” Stan suggests with a shrug. Kenny grins, although taken aback by how abruptly the two of them entered the scenes.

  
  


“Yeah, that'd be nice.” he responds to the inquiry. His eyes fall back on Craig, who is sipping at the coffee Wendy had given him. The same, bored expression lays on his face, and Kenny kind of wishes it was just the two of them.

 

* * *

 

 

The walk to the park is short lived, as the cafe is right by it. Wendy takes it upon herself to chat Craig up, or at least try to. She's quite a strongly opinionated woman, and she expresses all the things she likes and dislikes of Craig's band. She knows quite a lot about them, too.

  
  


“It's really cool how you and Clyde alternate vocals like you do. Had I not been a fan I don't know if I could've been able to tell your voices apart. ' _Pothole_ ' was such a vastly beautiful song, but when I saw the live version of it, I was really shocked to see you singing.” Wendy explains, and Craig snorts at this. There had been quite a misunderstanding about that. Kenny hadn't known until Craig showed him some footage from their concerts. Clyde has always been the front man, but sometimes Craig sings lead in select songs. It's a rarity, and the songs featuring Craig fronting are almost never performed live. No one can really tell the difference as the two sound so much alike.

  
  


Kenny hears bits and pieces of Wendy and Craig's conversation, though it gets drowned out by everyone else surrounding them, especially as Kenny watches them as they walk ahead to a pond. Stan steps next to them in a comfortable silence. He and Kenny have met before at parties but haven't really talked much on a personal level. Kyle and Stan were actually very close, though, after they had met once at a movie premiere. Kenny thinks pretty highly of the other male, as he faced similar problems with addiction.

  
  


It was all over the news:  _Stan Marsh is Signing Himself Into Rehab_ , his faithful girlfriend by his side; his recovery to the world. Kenny had a lot of respect for him because of it. The limelight is great to a certain extent. Kenny remembers sucking it up when he first got into it. Still does, but he's seen some nastiness to it, too; seen how some people let it go to their head, but some let it go to their heart. And neither is a good outcome.

  
  


“So how long have you and Wendy been, y'know? Like, are you guys really...?” It's highly implied what Kenny is trying to say. Stan lets out a laugh and shoves his hands into his coat pockets to protect himself from the cold.

  
  


“How long, what? How long have we been faking it? Are we really in love?” It's said lightheartedly, and Kenny feels a bit of relief at that, taking a seat on a bench across from the pond Wendy and Craig are standing in front of. Stan sits next to him, and they both look at the life of Central Park before them and how in this moment they are a part of it; a part of the multiple faces that are insignificant and so, so important all at the same time.

  
  


“Well, yeah, man.” Kenny replies. He feels a bit strange just jumping into it, but it's been itching at him. They seemed so real. It's weird how, as celebrities, so much of their lives are broadcast but also concealed, faked, and covered up.

  
  


“We've always been friends, dude.” Stan starts his eyes are on the trees; the orange and browns and yellows; the fall colors. “That's not a lie. You grow close when you work like this together. We've always been really close. I do love her, and that's not made up. We're friends, but I mean, man,” His gaze falls back down on Wendy, and there is a pause. Stan looks at her in a way that makes Kenny wonder if Stan means it when he says he loves her; if somewhere along the way of acting out something for the tv screen, the lie grew to have some validity to it.

  
  


“It's like this, dude," Stan continues. "At the end of the day, it may be for the media, but us knowing each other and caring about each other stopped...being fake? After a while. Even if we're not in love...we'll always be a part of each other. A part of her will always be a part of my life. I do love her, to answer your question.”

  
  


Kenny stares at Craig's back and how the wind rustles his hair as he and Wendy crouch down to look at the ducks floating in the water, the way the corner of Craig's lips curves upwards ever so slightly when he tosses a bread crust towards a duck, and the way his cheeks are flushed from the cold air.

  
  


It's a weird, eerie feeling, but what Stan says sticks into Kenny's mind, and he knows that even after all of this is said and done, he can't just erase Craig from his memories. He already has a sticky, permanent place in his head, constantly running through his mind, always plaguing his heart with the desire to know more. And he can see what Stan is saying because even if this is not forever, this feeling is something he'll remember.

  
  


“I think I understand.” Kenny responds. Stan lets out a him and turns his head towards Kenny, a big grin gracing his face.

  
  


“Yeah, well. We should probably catch up with them.” Stan cuts through their silence.

  
  


The rest of the date is spent with the four of them planting themselves under a tree and talking about their recent projects and other people in the business. After a few selfies are taken and numbers are exchanged, Stan and Wendy depart, saying their goodbyes. Stan high fives Kenny and waves goodbye to Craig while Wendy smiles at the two of them and waves goodbye as well. When they're gone, this leaves Kenny and Craig standing under the shade of an oak tree. Craig looks down at his cellphone, appearing to be checking a text before he shoves the device in his back pocket. He's turning to leave when Kenny calls out for him.

  
  


“Wait, fuck. Don't leave, Asshole.” Kenny says, jogging to catch up with Craig, who continues walking away. Kenny grips onto his shoulder, spinning him around. They're standing face to face now, and Craig looks down at him, mouth a straight line.

  
  


Kenny looks up at the skinny, gangly man before him, and he feels the frustration he's been keeping inside the past few weeks come forward.

  
  


“You can't keep leaving me like that,” he starts. Craig keeps a neutral expression, calm and visibly disinterested in what Kenny has to say. It irritates Kenny further.

  
  


“Don't pretend like you're this god damn emotionless being, Craig. Stop acting like things don't affect you or bother you. If it didn't you wouldn't have thrown up over my fucking balcony a few days ago like some scared, little kid.”

  
  


Kenny's hand drops to Craig's hand, and he's interlacing their fingers again. Craig's face is red from the cold, and he looks mad. Normally he'd be spitting back at Kenny, but he waits, letting him speak.

  
  


“I'm not going to force myself on you, asshole, but stop pretending you don't care; like none of this means anything to you. Whenever I get to know anything about you, you shut down. Are you scared?”

  
  


“I'm not scared of you.” Craig's brows are furrowed, and he looks pissed as he yanks his hand from Kenny's. The dark haired male squeezes his eyes shut and inhales deeply through his nose, exhaling from his mouth. That composure is back again, and he's looking Kenny right in the face.

  
  


“I do see right through you," A pause. "And I'm _not_ scared of you. ”

  
  


Kenny is shaking by now, fed up, frustrated. He feels tears forming in the corners of his eyes, and they begin to roll down his cheeks.

  
  


“Just let me in.” It's desperate, and Kenny feels pathetic after he says it. Craig's lips part, and Kenny sees a bit of hesitation before he shakes his head and turns around, leaving Kenny behind in the shade of the tree.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Mention: Pothole by modern baseball  
> Chapter Author: redrocketracer  
> Also Skylar beta'd the hell out of this and I want to thank him for it like holy crap.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, naomi here. Here's skylar's chapter. It's been awhile and we apologize, I got an ask on tumblr about it. And I guess it reminded us. Thank you everyone for your patience.

He shouldn't be out this late. Not in the big city, not when his friends are out of town partying, and not when it's below freezing.

But here he is, shielded from the violent cold by only a pair of cotton pajama bottoms and a pullover. His excuse is that he couldn't sleep, and a 3 AM jog seemed like the perfect way to wear himself out, but as he finds himself rounding the corner to Central Park, Craig realizes with sudden dread that he's weak, shaky, and his ears are beginning to ache from the cold. His hands and feet have already gone numb from the unforgiving climate, and he knows he should just jog back to his apartment where it's warm and relatively safe from the creeps lurking at night, but he can't bring himself to.

It's not a complete lie. He'd been in bed since 8 that evening, listelessly scrolling through YouTube videos and Tumblr posts on his phone with the lights out and curtains drawn in an attempt to relax and wind down. But then he saw it; saw that they saw him. Admittedly, he knows he shouldn't have been reading such an superficial article in the first place, but the clickbaity title was quite tempting: 5 Worst Celebrity Bodies. Number 5 was Steven Seagal, unsurprisingly, and was mostly just a bunch of wise cracks and backstory as to how Steven Seagal went from 'hunky to chunky', and the list only got dumber as it counted down.

But then he came to number one, and that's when he saw it; a photograph of himself in only his underwear standing out on his balcony and smoking a cigarette at the crack of dawn. It was obvious from the angle of the photo that he wasn't prepared to be photographed, and Craig had found himself disgusted by the seamingly translucent skin stretched over awkwardly protruding bones. The first few sentences were mercilessly cruel, and after several more humiliating photographs, he'd given up on attempting to sleep and went out to jog.  
Clyde, Tweek, and Token are all at some hot party a few towns away, and the apartment is empty. Tweek always keeps the television on the Nickelodeon station for the calming background noise, Token is usually in the kitchen preparing some gourmet food that Craig could never fully appreciate, and Clyde is usually fiddling on his iPhone while humming some Katy Perry song. But tonight, the television is off, there isn't the scent of homemade spaghetti and garlic rolls, and Clyde's head isn't using Craig's crotch as a pillow so that he can both play on his phone and crane his neck to watch iCarly on television.

Craig should've gone to that stupid party with them, but he was too tired. He's always too tired.

When's the last time he ate? He can't remember. Maybe that's why he felt so shitty. Feels so shitty. He's been bad about forgetting to eat lately, and it's evident by the way he now needs a belt to hold up the jeans he's worn since he was in high school; by the way his bass guitar weighs a little heavier on his shoulders than it used to; by the way his bones grind together uncomfortably whenever he tries to lie comfortably. He didn't think anyone else had taken note of it, though. He's always so good at hiding from the public eye. He's become too careless, and he can't help but blame Kenny.

Kenny.

Craig is thrust out of his thoughts when it hits him that Kenny's apartment is 3 blocks away at most. Craig could jog there in a matter of minutes, and there's no way Kenny could turn him away. Kenny wants to be around Craig, he knows it. This is what Craig tells himself as he sprints down the sidewalk to Kenny's apartment, his legs feeling airy as he floats up the stairs to apartment 23. It's not long before Kenny is peeking through a crack in the door, a scowl on his handsome features.

"Craig? What the fuck?" Kenny's expression turns from one of irritation to one of groggy confusion as he steps back to open the door wider. "What are you doing here? What time is it?" Kenny mumbles, rubbing at his eyes with his fists like a child.

"Make me breakfast." Craig says without thinking about it, stomach whining loudly as if on cue. This seems to surprise Kenny, and the blonde turns to look at the clock on the wall.

"At 4 in the morning?" Kenny questions, concern flooding his handsome features. Craig can feel his own features contorting into a scowl when Kenny takes his hands and rubs them in an effort to warm them. Kenny shouldn't be so comfortable with touching him. No one should.

"Yes. I want breakfast." It takes only moments for the clouds in Kenny's eyes to fade as he looks Craig over, giving Craig that piteous look that Craig is always afraid of getting. "Don't look at me like that." Craig bites, yanking his hands away and hugging his elbows as he pushes past Kenny into his apartment.

"Fine, asshole." Kenny snorts, and Craig pads over to sit at a bar stool in Kenny's kitchenette. Kenny looks different at four in the morning, Craig notices. Kenny's eyebrows are bushier, his cheeks look dirty with his dark blond stubble, and his shaggy hair looks impossibly more dishevelled. Craig can't decide if Kenny looks like a slob or if he just looks human. Meanwhile, Craig looks the same as always. Maybe it's because he never puts any effort into his appearance. Maybe he doesn't want people to expect more from him. "What are you thinking about?"

"What?" Craig blinks and glances up at Kenny, suddenly remembering where he is. The hissing of bacon and sizzling of greasy eggs makes Craig relax slightly, but he's still anxious. What else is new?

"You're thinking about something. Let me pick your brain." Kenny says blatantly as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

"It's not a booger." Craig says defensively without thinking, and he jumps slightly when Kenny bursts into laughter. He can feel the corners of his own lips tugging upward slightly into a smirk. "Shut up." he snorts fondly, no malice to be found in his tone. Kenny's laughter dies down after a while, and Craig finds himself mesmerized by Kenny's face as he cooks. Kenny sticks his tongue out when he's focused, and he squints so hard it looks like his eyes are closed. Maybe it's because he's exhausted, but Craig has to restrain himself from mimicking Kenny's facial expression on impulse.

"So where's the gang?" Kenny breaks the silence when Craig's hooded eyes are beginning to droop.

"They went to a party a few towns over."

"And- You left early?"

"I didn't go."

"Why not?" Kenny asks, popping open a can of biscuits and setting them out on a pan. Craig reaches over and picks a piece of dough from one before Kenny can stop him, popping the raw dough into his mouth.

"I hate parties." Craig says flatly, and when he reaches to pick another piece of dough from a biscuit, Kenny smacks his wrist with a spatula. "Fuck," Craig hisses, glaring at Kenny and nursing his wrist.

"It has raw eggs in it, dumbass. They'll be done in a few minutes so hold your fucking horses." Kenny tells him with a scoff, shoving the biscuits into the oven and giving Craig a stern look. "Anyway- What's so bad about parties? You get drunk and do dumb shit with other people who came to get drunk and do dumb shit. It's pretty great." Kenny snorts, and Craig can't resist rolling his eyes.

"I don't like people." Craig answers, listlessly tracing his fingers over the tile countertop. In his defense, they didn't like him first. "I don't understand how you can be around people all of the time." Craig continues, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie over his frail wrists. He's avoided contact with Kenny for a few weeks, and if Kenny hasn't seen the headlines about his gaunt and sickly appearance, he's going to maintain his composed exterior with baggy clothing until this stupid, fake relationship is over.

"When I was a kid, no one really noticed me or cared if I was there," Kenny says seriously, eyes fixated on the bubbles of bacon grease. "So I like it when people fawn over me. Kyle says I'm self centered, and I guess I kinda am, but it's whatever. If people want to kiss my ass, I don't mind droppin' my pants for 'em." Kenny grins, snickering to himself, and it's very apparent to Craig that Kenny is still waking up.

"God, shut up." Craig mutters, but he can't fight the urge to snicker, cheeks reddening. How Kenny can manage to be so lewd and raw but also charming befuddles Craig to say the very least, and he finds himself wondering if Kenny just bares himself to the whole world or if he just saves this level of his obnoxiousness for Craig's company.

Kenny ends up burning the biscuits, and the eggs stick to the pan so Craig ends up eating out of the skillet with a fork and pot holders, but he doesn't complain. Mostly because he's too tired to care about how bitter the burnt bits are on the edges of his tongue. Kenny is fully awake by this point, and he flicks through the channels on the television on the couch beside Craig, but Craig doesn't think Kenny is really paying attention to the shows.

Craig doesn't know when it happened, but the silence between them has become tense, and he finds himself focusing on the sounds of his own mastication and watching Kenny pretend to focus on the television. He knows it's coming; Kenny's going to ask Craig why he's been avoiding him and why Craig hasn't responded to his hundreds of text messages. It's coming, and Craig doesn't want to be in its path when it gets here.

"I'm a better singer than Clyde." he declares out of the blue, setting the skillet down on the coffee table in front of him and glancing over at Kenny's confused countenance. He seems shocked by this bold statement, but his frowning lips quickly curl upwards into a grin.

"Bullshit. If you're so good at singing then how come you just sing backup for Clyde?" Kenny demands, folding his arms over his chest and turning to give Craig his full attention.

"I get enough attention as it is. Clyde enjoys it more than I do so I let him have at it."

"Sing something for me then. Nut up or shut up, babe." Kenny challenges, grinning like a fox and leaning in closer to Craig's face. The closeness sets Craig on edge, and he leans back into the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table and staring up at the ceiling with half lidded eyes.

"I used to sing a lot when I was a kid," he says quietly, and he suddenly realizes that Kenny turned the television off at some point during their conversation. "Before I was adopted, my birth dad would get shitfaced every night. Sometimes he'd pass out in his room, but sometimes he'd start crying and ask me to sing him to sleep." Craig's eyes are closed now, and he can hear Kenny's soft breathing; feel Kenny's rapt gaze burning on his face.

"After my mom and dad adopted me, I stopped singing for a long time. I don't know why. I just did. Then, I met Clyde. When we were in 6th grade, he had his colostomy bag removed, and he was so scared of the surgery he just kept crying. I don't know why I thought to do it, but I just started singing. It just felt like the right thing to do, and it worked. He stopped crying long enough for them to put him under, and ever since then, I sing but only for Clyde." Craig explains softly, and he can't bring himself to meet Kenny's gaze.

"Could you sing something for me?" It seems like forever before Kenny speaks again, and Craig had almost slipped right out of consciousness. His eyes snap open to look over at Kenny, who is staring at him like he's the most interesting and vulnerable thing he's ever laid his eyes on. Craig can't decide if he looks condescending or incredibly empathetic, but he decides on the latter and moves to lie on his back with his head on Kenny's lap. It's an impulsive and reckless move, and it seems to shock Kenny just as much as it does Craig, but it's not long before Kenny's fingers are twisting in Craig's unruly, ebony locks.

"I was such a shitty kid. I had nightmares every night for the first few months after I got adopted, and I wouldn't let my parents sleep, either. My mom seemed to become distant and overwhelmed with me, but my dad was always patient with me. He knew I loved this one Japanese cartoon so he learned the lyrics and would sing it to me every time I woke up from a nightmare. He had a shitty voice, but that wasn't the point."

"That's sweet.." Kenny murmurs, and he massages Craig's scalp with his fingertips. His gaze is so fond on Craig's face, and Craig wonders if he's dreaming right now. "Sing it for me."

So he does.

"Cast away your worries, my dear  
For tomorrow comes a new day  
Hold to me, you've nothing to fear  
For your dreams are not far away

"As you lay your head and you rest  
May your dreams take over my love  
Listen close, my son of the west  
For your destiny lies above

"Though the world is cruel  
There's a light that still shines  
In the darkest days of our lives

"When all hope seems lost  
And you can't find your way  
Think of me as you look to the sky

"Child mine, your future is bright  
For your mother's blood's in your veins  
In dark times, I pray you will fight  
For the world will soon know your name."

The first sob tears itself from low in Craig's throat like an angry fire, and he bites down on his bottom lip to prevent himself from drowning in his own aguish. His balled fists are pressed so hard to his eyes that they begin to bruise his eyelids, and his bony shoulders shake with the strain of supressing Craig's urge to dissolve into his tears.

"Fuck," he spits angrily, yanking his shirt up over his face and wheezing in an attempt to collect himself. "Don't look at me," he hisses hoarsely, fighting the urge to force himself up and run. "Don't say anything." he whispers, somehow allowing Kenny to pet his hair and pull him more into his chest.

And Kenny doesn't say anything. He doesn't make Craig pull his shirt from his face or make Craig talk about it or make Craig put any effort into to existing. He just holds Craig until he drifts to sleep, and as Craig fades off, he could swear he hears Kenny humming some tune low in his throat.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I CRY IT HAS BEEN SO LONG  
> i am so tired  
> But i was too excited to wait for skylar to revise it is time for me to sleep

Normally, Kenny wakes up to the ethereal darkness of his room, the curtains trapping his room in a quiet and gloomy blackness and shutting him away from the world. Usually he’ll sleep in unless he has business to attend to, but when Kenny begins to stir this particular morning, it’s light. Kenny’s fingers are curled in soft tresses, his nose buried in that dulcet hair. His azure eyes open, and it dawns on him that this soft, ebony, sweet smelling hair belongs to none other than Craig Tucker.

Kenny closes his eyes, one hand threaded in jet black locks and his other hand with his fingers twisted into the back of Craig’s tee shirt. It’s a peaceful kind of quiet, and they lay like that for a while, Kenny feeling Craig’s even breathing with his own chest rising and falling to the beat of his heart. He could remain this way forever, he thinks, but Craig’s hair tickles Kenny’s nose, and before he can stop himself Kenny is sneezing. Craig jumps slightly, glancing up at Kenny's sleepy countenance before resting his head right back down on Kenny's chest with his long digits still digging into Kenny's clothed torso.

Craig has been very brave in exposing parts of himself Kenny was growing to believe didn’t exist. This moment feels so raw and vulnerable that Kenny wants to revel into this closeness like a cashmere sweater. Just as Craig's skinny form is pressed to Kenny's side, Kenny presses a chaste kiss to Craig's forehead. To his dismay, Kenny's stomach lets out an impressive growl, persistent and yearning. He decides that he is hungry.

“Want breakfast?” he mumbles out. It’s somnolent and groggy, but Kenny doesn’t give a shit. Craig squirms a bit on top of him, and Kenny can feel his even breath on his skin.

“Mhmm.” Craig says, but he makes no attempt to move. Kenny squeezes his back a bit, his fingertips gliding over the protruding vertebrae of Craig's spine. Eventually Craig sits up, though, and stretches like a lazy cat with Kenny following his actions.

“I have some clothes that might fit.” He says, breathing it out in a yawn with his arms stretched over his head. Might fit is an overstatement, though. Kenny has noticed how thin and emaciated Craig seems to have gotten. He hasn't made any attempts to vocalize those thoughts, though. It’s not his place, and it isn’t like the media hasn’t blown it oat of proportion anyways. Craig KNOWS. Kenny knows it. He’s concerned by the rail thin arms and petite, angular frame, but Kenny only just got some semblance of intimacy last night, and he is fearful that if he expresses his concern that Craig will shut down out of insecurity.

He’s pulls out some old sweater and worn jeans, watching Craig overturn them in his hands and inspecting them before sauntering to the bathroom. The door shuts behind him, and Kenny makes to get dressed himself, gracelessly pulling on a pair of black slacks and a white tee shirt. He’s tying up his shoelaces when the bathroom door opens.

Craig steps out, and the sweater is loose, exposing his collarbones that jut out underneath creamy white shoulders. The sleeves are too big and hide his hands, but the pants fit a bit better even though they're still quite loose. Kenny hands Craig a belt he knew he’d need, and Kenny smiles gently as he watched Craig adust it.

“Ready?” he questions. Craig looks up at him and nods his head.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

*

The restaurant is a little mom and pop place a few blocks down. It’s homey, with the restaurants first dollar hung up, certification, and a few pictures of famous customers who probably haven't thought of the experience since the day it occured. Kenny’s face is among them considering he frequents the place so often. They walk there, and it’s quiet; not overrun with guests. Just two lonely looking drifters and one family of four. Kenny and Craig sit in a booth towards the back. Kenny orders pancakes while Craig went for pecan waffles, insisting that waffles are superior to pancakes when Kenny rolls his eyes. Kenny ends up drenching his pancakes with syrup while Craig eats his bare. It almost says something about the two, but Kenny doesn’t dwell on the symbolism, if there is any.

After cutting his pancakes into pieces, Kenny clumsily stuffs a piece in his mouth. There is a plethora of reasons why he loves this restaurant, and their delicious pancakes is numero uno. Kenny smiles, more than content with his food, and his eyes wonder past Craig, taking in the crowd. They fall on one of the lonesome customers, who has his head in his hands. He looks so distressed, and it makes Kenny wonder.

“What do you think omelet guy's story is?” Kenny questions as he pops another chunk of pancake into his mouth. Craig looks up at him, eyebrows raised in question. Kenny tilts his head in the guy's direction wordlessly, and Craig’s eyes dart over.

“What?” Craig inquires hoarsely in confusion, his pale orbs focused on the teenager with shaggy blond hair.

“Well, I mean…” Kenny pauses, trying to find the right words. How can he explain this without sounding like a creep or weirdo. “Sometimes I make up stories about people I’ll never know.” Kenny explains, though Craig still looks just as confused, and Kenny lets out a laugh. “I mean, when you don’t know someone the canvas is pretty blank, right? Until you ask them, and they fill in the details and paint a picture. But you don’t always get that. So why not paint your own picture? So what do you think his story is?” He explains. Craig looks back down at his waffles and picks at them listelessly.

“His girlfriend broke up with him at a Maroon 5 concert.”

It is said with such a serious expression; so nonchalant that Kenny blinks for a few seconds and then dissolves into laughter.

“I was thinking more along the lines of he tried to get his number over there,” Kenny jabs his thumb in the direction of a waiter with red hair. “and got turned down.” Kenny laughs out. He can see a smile creeping onto Craig’s face. He caused that, and it makes his own grin big and toothy.

“What if the waiter turned him down because he was in love with the cook?” Craig questions, looking at Kenny through spidery, black lashes.

“This has to be the tragic love story of tears over omelet. We'll call it I like my heartache over-easy.” Kenny says as he takes another bite of his mangled pancake. They continue on making up stories of the customers, the other lonesome one being a foreigner that just wants his favorite dish and the family of four dining to celebrate the announcement of their butler's wedding. They finish up their meals and pay their bill, Kenny trying to keep a straight face at the red haired waiter who tells them to have a nice day.

Kenny waves at the woman at the front desk. Her name is Meredith, and Kenny is pretty friendly with her. Both Kenny and Craig can see a crowd waiting to ambush them outside, and Kenny steps out onto the sidewalk first with a sigh. It seems dramatic that you can go out for a nice breakfast, and before you know it you are being flocked by paparazzi. Normally Kenny is all for publicity, but he feels like his moments with Craig are significant and for his eyes only. They try to push through while being pestered, ignoring the prying eyes and intrusive questions.

“Kenny, are you worried about your boyfriend's weight?”

“Kenny, what do you think your new project will be?

“Craig, when will your band come out with a new album?”

Some of them are questions about their career, on the less personal side, but some of them become invasive. They’re almost out of the pestering eyes when Craig stumbles over the hem of his oversized jeans, shaking hands coming out in front of him to break his fall. His thin frame collapses onto the sidewalk, and before Kenny can even process what's happened, Craig is being smothered by the papparazzi, and Kenny is being pushed back.

“Hey! Come on! Let me through!” he screams, but they ignore him and continue to circle Craig with accusations of an eating disorder induced dizzy spell. Kenny can feel his face heating up; his ears are probably as red as the devil's dick at this point, and eventually Kenny gets so fed up with this that he ruthlessly pushes some guy out of the way. His camera makes a crushing noise as it hits pavement, and Kenny grabs Craig’s hand to pull him up and away from the paparazzi. They both start to walk a little faster until the papparazzi backs off and disperses. Eventually they are out of their clutches, and Kenny is fuming. The wind bites at his face, but it would take a tornado to whisp away the smoke coming from his ears.

He’s never felt this; he’s never been so pissed off about how incredibly intrusive and rude the paparazzi are. Normally he is used to it; blows kisses and answers questions, but today he wants to be alone. He never noticed how annoying they could be. Kenny is open, and never felt like he needed anything to himself, but he wants Craig all to himself. He grips onto Craig’s hand tightly as he calls for a taxi, and eventually one rolls up and stops in front of them. Kenny almost forgot his grasp on Craig’s hand, but he doesn’t let go as they enter. He doesn’t even let go as they drive through the streets of New York City to Craig’s apartment, passing everyday people walking to their everyday jobs and tourist from all around the world. When they arrive Kenny finally looks at Craig. Kenny is less angry now, and takes in those piercing blue eyes. Craig squeezes his hand, and Kenny squeezes back and watches Craig's gaze flick to their hands.

“You’re still holding my hand.” Craig observes. Kenny looks down at them and then back into those piercing blue eyes.

“I am.”  
  
It’s quiet for a few seconds until they realize the taxi driver is growing impatient, stealing harsh glances at them through his rear view mirror. Kenny squeezes Craig’s hand one last time and lets go, watching as Craig exits the taxi and steps up to his apartment. There is a pause as Craig gets to the door. He looks over his shoulder ever so slightly at Kenny before letting the glass close behind him.

The taxi rolls on, tires crushing the pavement beneath it’s weight. Kenny watches Craig’s frame as he disappears behind glass doors before turns away and puts his attention on the road.

*  
It’s raining by the time he gets home, and Kenny spends an hour looking through Twitter posts. There are various tweets addressing the incident with the paparazzi. Lots of fans are saying that “Craig is changing Kenny” and that Kenny is turning into a "vile cockroach” like Craig.

Kenny should feel angry, but instead he just feels a dull annoyance. He knows he is justified in what he did. A part of him wonders if this is why Craig never responds to people criticizing him about the way he treats the media. Kenny remembers when he first looked up Craig’s band, watched video clip after video clip of his aloof attitude and thought that he was a jerk. But Kenny gets it now. A lot more than he would like to admit.

Kenny is looking at Vines when his doorknob is jiggling and the front door is being open. Kyle enters, wearing his favorite green ushanka. It’s a lime green, ugly thing. He is soaked and looking angry, and kenny can feel what is coming next and prepares himself. His lips part slightly as he leans up on his elbows.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Was breaking the guy's camera really necessary, for fuck's sake?” Kyle cries out as he takes a seat next to Kenny, lifting his legs and placing them on his lap. Kenny lets out a sigh and puts his phone down.

“You would have done the same thing. They were like vultures.” Kenny groans, looking up at the ceiling and gazing at the pictures in the cracks in a futile attempt to pretend he's aywhere else but here right now. He can hear Kyle let out a scoff.

“They’ve always been pests. But you always liked being in the limelight.” Kyle says gently, though he doesn't press the issue any further and simply leans back on the couch. Kenny sits up and looks at him. Kyle seems so stressed, and Kenny knows how all consuming the job is. He wonders if Kyle ever thought of giving up; knows he probably has, but he still remains the only certain thing in Kenny's life.

“Thanksgiving is next week. I’m so ready to go down on a turkey.” Kenny says, letting out a yawn and salivating at the prospect of good food. He knows it won’t be anything special, just Kyle and him cooking, but it sounds like something they need. There has been a bit of a rift between them since Crenny became a thing.

“Shit!” Kyle exclaims. He places his head in his hands and lets out a dramatic sigh. “I forgot—we’re doing Thanksgiving with Craig and his band.” Kyle explains. Kenny perks up at this; at the thought of being with Craig, but it kind of is dashed with the thought of being around his friends. He doesn’t know them too well. His last meeting with Clyde was awkward at best.

“Ah, ok.” He says. Kenny wants to be excited but feels nervous. Kyle turns to him and has a blank expression for a few seconds, looking as though he's about to crash quicker than the stock market.

“Karen and Kevin are coming up here, too. They’ll be here on Wednesday, actually. Shit. I’m sorry I forgot to tell you.” Kyle mumbles. Kenny shoots up at this, mouth opening and closing for a few seconds before a wide smile spreads across his face.

“Shit man, it’s ok! But really? We haven’t seen them in so long!” Kenny says, ecstatic, and Kyle actually smiles back at him.

“Yeah! Ike is coming, too! It’s going to be awesome, dude!” Kyle cheers, spirit seemingly uplifted as he leans back with a grin.

“Fuck yeah." Kenny snickers, internally screaming.

**   
The remainder or the week goes by agonizingly slow for Kenny. He calls Karen almost every night, and they jokingly count down the days they get to see each other again. Kevin pokes his head onto the screen every once and awhile and makes the silliest of faces. Kenny finds it to be such a happy thing to see him like that since Kevin has always been super dark and brooding. Kenny likes when he is silly.

When Wednesday arrives, Kenny is up at 5 a.m. and listening to the sound of the rain beating down on his windows. It’s dark and gloomy, but today is a good day. Kenny pulls on a white sweater, a brown scarf and his favorite overall jeans that hook over his shoulders. They cover his torso and expose his sides until it reaches his hips. He's only wearing this because Karen loves the goddamn things; she even has a picture of him wearing them at a photoshoot on her wall even though Kenny cringes every time he thinks about it.

Kyle is at Kenny’s door at the asscrack of dawn even though the plane won't be landing until one in the afternoon. Kyle has always been an early riser while Kenny will be late for his own funeral, but they're both too excited to bitch at each other this morning. Karen’s flight arrives at 1 pm, so for a few hours the two of them just sit around. Kyle puts on Terrance and Phillip: Asses of Fire, and the apartment quickly swells with obnoxious laughter. It’s been far too long since they've spent quality time together without the subject of work weighing heavily on their minds.

When it’s approaching 12:30 they have a makeshift sign that says “McCormicks + IKE." Kyle is holding it up as high as his short stature will allow, trying to stick out amongst the crowds of people trying to pick their family up for the holidays. It all happens in an instant: One moment Kenny is scanning the crowd and the next he has the full weight of a teenage girl in his arms.

“Ken!” Karen squeals as she wraps her arms around Kenny’s middle, and Kenny tearfully engulfs her small frame in his strong arms, fingers curling into her mousy brown hair.

“Karen!” he laughs just as she pulls away and grabs onto his hands. His are colder than hers, but she doesn't seem to mind as she takes to warming his up with her own.

Kenny looks up and sees Kevin, who pulls him into a hug. And the three of them are there, hugging in an overly crowded airport. Kenny almost laughs when he sees that Ike now towers over Kyle in both heighth and width, his arm tossed protectively around Kyle's shoulders. Despite this, Kyle continues to beam at Ike like he's the most beautiful beast he's ever seen, and they’re just all so fucking happy to be with each other.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” Kenny says, a true poet.

*

When they arrive back at Kenny’s apartment they opt for ordering takeout. Kenny explains that the one thing you have to have when you come to New York is the pizza.

“I don’t understand. What’s so different about the pizza?”

“I don’t know Kev, it’s just so much fucking better.”

The day is spent basking in each other's company; retelling embarrassing stories and updating each other on their chaotic lives. Kenny is pretty impressed when Ike tells him he is graduating early and with honors, and Karen brandishes some of her new artwork. Some subjects are avoided; Kevin doesn’t tell Kenny how their parents are doing until later into the night when they are on the patio. It’s just the two of them bundled up in a soft blanket. It’s cold and alive with city life outside, the harsh temperature fitting for the subject of conversation.

Kevin explains to Kenny that their father is still in rehab, and while he's doing well, Kevin is still worried he'll mess up, and he's keeping a certain distance emotionally while trying to be there as much as he can. Kenny frowns into his cup of apple cider and keeps his desires of wanting to be more behind pursed lips. He sits there, and Kevin goes back inside. Kenny watches the sunset over the city, hues of orange bleeding into blue and whites, purples and yellows. Karen steps out into it and puts its beauty to shame, leaning over the balcony and looking over the ledge at the bustling life below.

*

The day of Thanksgiving Kenny sleeps in. It’s 10 a.m. when he wakes up to Karen and Ike fighting about something petty. They’re all in the living room, and Kenny somehow ended up on the floor. He lets out a groan and tries to cover his face with his pillow.

“Go back to sleep.” He groans.

“You suck at braiding hair! I don’t know why I trusted you with this.”

"Well excuse the fuck out of me for not graduating cum laude in cosmetology!"

"Isaac Moisha Broflovski! Watch your language!"

Kenny groggily sits up to see Karen with her hair all tangled up in a knot and Ike huffing as he gets an earful from a red faced Kyle. They all have to be at Craig’s place at 1 so Kenny lets Karen get the bathroom first. She takes about an hour showering and trying to comb out her matted hair and getting dressed. Kenny is last, and he just breezes through washing his hair out and throwing on a tshirt and jeans. Craig has seen Kenny at his worst and at his best, and Kenny wonders if Craig would even be able to distinguish between the two.

*

They arrive at the apartment 10 minutes late, but somehow Kenny doesn’t think Craig or his friends particularly care. Token certainly doesn't seem to mind as opens the door for them with a polite smile and open arms. Kenny has only seen Token in pictures and interviews; it’s strange seeing all of them outside of the internet. You can smell the turkey cooking, and Kenny can’t even assume who is cooking it. None of them strike him as the type to cook.

They all smile and welcome them in, and Kenny is pleasantly surprised at how natural the interaction feels considering his last encounter with Clyde. He takes a seat next to Craig, who is quiet and seems uncomfortable but smiles ever so slightly when Kenny kisses his cheek. Despite his fear of rejection, Kenny takes a shot in the dark by draping his arm around Craigs shoulder, and he's relieved when Craig leans into his side without seeming to have to think about it. It’s nice.

The whole room is full of life. Ike, Kyle and Clyde chat about new video games they're awaiting to hit the market, Clyde with his guitar in his arms. Tweek and Kevin play Tennis on the Wii, and Token picks at the turkey while Karen hesitates before she ultimately sits next to Craig.

She is pulling at her hair and debating on whether or not to disturb him; he has his eyes closed, sitting cross legged at the table and hugging his elbows in a way that seems standoffish. And eventually she looks at him. She has big hazel eyes, and they take in this man that has stolen her brother's heart right out from under her.

“Do you know how to do a French braid, Craig?” 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are back :) here's skylars chapter. This is coming to a close soon.

Pale skin stretched much too thin over vessels and veins and ugly things shouldn't be in dreams, Craig decides. Neither should crooked teeth or bony feet; lanky limbs and thin thighs or huge, hollow eyes and protruding collarbones, for that matter. But these are the things that paint the big picture that is Craig Tucker: the sloppy, unsightly scribble that somebody sold at a yardsale for cigarette money. He's always been too much. Too skinny, too angular, too pale, too sad, too dark, too tall, too harsh, too tired, too much, and yet somehow still never enough.

But Kenny loves these things. He loves the gap between Craig's front teeth and his overly pronounced cupid's bow above his upper lip. Kenny adores that Craig's ears are a little pointy and that his eyes are big and round like a child's when juxtaposed with his sunken cheeks. Kenny can't get enough of his messy, cow licked hair or bulging knuckles, and Craig is left wondering if Kenny dreams about all of these things at night. God, he hopes not.

Craig knows he looks pathetic pacing between his bathroom and his closet in a futile attempt to put together the perfect combination of clothing items to pull off "casual" and "put together." It's gotten to the point that Cartman is genuinely concerned that Craig is going to be late for his date, and by "worried" he means that Cartman keeps hollering up the stairs and chucking TV remotes at him. The thought crosses Craig's mind that this must be the "first date" experience he missed out on in high school when every attempt at courting him was met with a middle finger, and luckily that thought exits his mind before he can dwell on it.

Kenny is supposed to be meeting him at the Italian restaurant they graced with their presence months ago, though it seems like years with how much has changed since Craig was getting drunk on wine to tolerate that big, blond dick. Not only is it Christmas Eve, but it's also the first time he's acknowledged the holiday since he was a brooding 12 year old with bubbling acne and unresolved daddy issues. At least his acne has cleared up.

He runs a shaky hand through his messy bangs, attempting to make his unkept hair stay in place and failing miserably because it seems hellbent on transforming him into a 2000s, emo, Myspace blogger. The bags under his eyes are starting to resemble wallets rather than diaper bags, probably because he's taken up the addicting habit of listening to Kenny's husky voice over the phone until he falls asleep, and his lips are no longer chapped and parched. He's well aware that there has definitely been some improvement in the past few weeks, if the constant praise from his fans are any consolation.

When a shoe smacks the door frame of the bathroom, Craig realizes Cartman is running out of objects to peg him with and gives his face one last glance in the bathroom mirror before descending the stairs. Cartman chose his outfit for the evening: a skin tight, black tee shirt with a see through, mesh sweater, black jeans with various patches, and combat boots. He doesn't look festive or even appropriately dressed for how low the temperature has been lately, but Cartman promised him that he looked damn good in it, and Craig has given up on trying to modify Cartman's clothing choice.

"You'd know yourself if you'd take that stupid fuckin' sheet off your mirror," Cartman had sneered at him earlier that evening, chubby arms folded over his fat tits as he smirked at Craig. It was tempting, too; to just yank that sheet off of his mirror and take a good look at his reflection. Maybe he'd actually like the man staring back at him. Maybe he'd be disgusted and angry and upset. He wasn't willing to take that chance.

"I think the fact that you won't take your eyes off my dick is proof enough."

"It's about fuckin' time, you asshole!" Cartman scolds him, and he's audacious in the way he so carelessly shoves Craig towards the front door and the awaiting limousine parked in front of their apartment. It's a sickeningly sweet touch on such a tacky evening, he thinks. He just knows he'll ruin that thing by the end of the night, and he'll undoubtedly get an earful about the bill for it in the morning. "You're gonna be late, and that stupid Jew bitch is gonna chew me out for it!"

"So suck his dick some more. That'll probably shut him up." Craig says flatly, and the fire burning up Cartman's double chin and swollen cheeks is satisfying enough for Craig to let out a snort.

"Shut the fuck up! You just make this date look good! The people are eating this relationship like it's sugar coated xanax so we're gonna keep feeding it to 'em until they get sick of it."

Until they get sick of it.

~

It's 20 minutes past the time he agreed to meet Kenny at the restaurant, but Craig is honestly surprised to see Kenny standing outside the restaurant with a bouquet of roses in hand when the limousine pulls up. Kenny is always fashionably late to big events like movie premieres and press conferences, and flowers seem like overkill on an already overly cliche night. Of course Kenny, the King of Classics, would bring him roses. Classics are classics for a reason, after all.

Before Craig can even place his hand on the door handle to exit the limo, Kenny has it opened for him and is already offering Craig a hand to help him out of the car. As if Craig can't get out of the vehicle on his own. If it was anyone else, Craig would ignore them and get out himself without a second thought, but when Kenny's azure eyes meet his own, Craig can see how hopeful he is, and he almost feels guilty for even considering not accepting his offer.

"Thanks." Craig, ever the social butterfly, mutters awkwardly, accepting Kenny's hand and immediately noticing how sweaty Kenny's palm is. "Did Kyle make you bring those?" Craig asks about the roses that Kenny seems to have forgotten about in lieu of helping him out of the car.

"Huh? Oh- shit, no. I just," Kenny grins sheepishly, a blush erupting like a volcano on his cheeks, and Craig finds himself uncharacteristically charmed by how uneven Kenny's shave seems to be underneath the fluorescent street lights. He even has several shreds of tissue sticking to his chin and neck from where he appears to have knicked himself shaving. "I wanted to bring you something, but I thought wine and condoms would look bad." Kenny admits, and he thrusts the bouquet towards Craig, who doesn't make any move to take them from him.

"I'm allergic." Craig says flatly, watching all of the country tan drain from Kenny's face.

"Oh fuck- Seriously?" Craig snorts at him.

"No."

"You piece of shit."

~

"I should've thought more before I ordered this." Kenny frowns, picking at some dish that honestly looks like someone's vomit after a night of heavy drinking. Pasta e Fagioli, it's called, and they both know that Kenny only ordered it because it had the word "faggy" in it. Apparently, it wasn't worth the joke, and now Kenny is left to gorge himself on the free breadsticks that their waitress never fails to replenish.

"Trade with me, then." Craig offers, carelessly pushing his plate of eggplant parmesan towards Kenny. He hadn't expected the eggplant to be breaded and deep friend, and after digging out the pieces of eggplant from underneath the cheesy, greasy mess, he's lost interest in the dish. They're the only two diners in the restaurant tonight, and Craig can feel their waitress' eyes on him as he takes Kenny's bowl of faggy pasta.

"Are you sure, dude?" Kenny asks, but he's already salivating and twisting his fork in a bite of cheesy spaghetti, and Craig can't help but smirk to himself. The night is far less awkward than their first time dining here, and it's even more surprising given the fact that he hasn't even touched his glass of wine yet. There's a slow song playing overhead, and Craig is certain he's heard it playing in an elevator before.

"Yeah." Craig inspects the bowl of sick with his spoon and cautiously pops a bite of what appears to be red and white beans into his mouth, pleasantly surprised when they don't taste as disgusting as they look. "This makes us even." Craig informs Kenny, referring to their first date here when he'd picked at Kenny's food in lieu of eating his own, and Kenny grins at him.

"Hey, I was just glad to see you eating something." Kenny admits, and Craig can feel his smirk sliding off his face and into his bowl. "Shit, no, I didn't mean it like that. It's just." Kenny fumbles over his words, and Craig can see the apologetic look on his face without looking up at him.

"When I was a kid, the only thing I would eat were grilled cheese sandwiches." Craig interrupts Kenny's sputtering, staring into his glass of wine and debating over whether he should take the first sip or not. "My mom tried everything to get me to eat anything else. The doctors told her not to give me grilled cheese and that if I got hungry enough, I would eat whatever she gave me. I was such an asshole that I didn't eat for four days when she tried that, and I ended up passing out while riding my bike."

"Fuck," Kenny deadpans, and Craig snorts at him. "When did you stop being an asshole?"

"I didn't." Craig answers honestly, and Kenny grins toothily at him. "I refused to eat anything else until one day in 2nd grade this fat ass kid brought an entire cake for lunch and made a point to tell everyone they couldn't have any. Clyde actually cried. So I walked over to his table, grabbed a handful of his cake, and shoved it in my mouth."

"What kind of cake was it?" Kenny asks stupidly, eyes wide as he stares intently at Craig.

"Fuck if I know. Carrot cake? Whatever it was, it tasted like shit. Anyway, he beat the shit out of me, but after that I stopped being a picky eater."

"Iconic." Kenny praises him, and Craig is surprised when he hears a chuckle bubbling up in his chest. "But seriously, fuck you, dude, carrot cake is the shit." Kenny scolds, punctuating his statement by pointing his fork at Craig's face.

"I bet you'd eat actual shit if someone put whipped cream and a cherry on top." Craig retorts, and they're both grinning at each other at this point. The conversation flows so easily, and Craig is surprised by how comfortable he feels in this moment, insulting Kenny and enjoying his faggy pasta dish. He feels delirious even though his glass of wine isn't quite empty yet, and he is relieved to see that Kenny seems to feel the same way.

"I always hated Christmas growing up." Kenny admits somberly after they're milking the last drops of wine from their bottle. His eyes look glazed over in a way that makes Craig question if he's drunk or if what he's about to say actually carries some weight. "I would always wake up to see that Santa skipped over our house, and I just thought that maybe I wasn't good enough that year."

Craig listens quietly, watching Kenny's distant expression with rapt attention. He's surprised by Kenny's sudden change in attitude, wondering if Kenny is just a moody drunk or if he has just been waiting until he was comfortable to admit these things to Craig. Whatever the case may be, Craig is unfamiliar with the act of offering comfort to others so he settles for listening patiently and gently tapping his foot against Kenny's under the table in what seems like a reassuring guesture to him.

"When I finally got old enough to realize that Santa Clause isn't real, I had already been believing I was just a terrible kid for so long that it didn't matter anymore." Kenny continues, seemingly avoiding Craig's gaze as he scratches his empty plate with his fork, an action that makes Craig grimace from the sound of metal scraping against glass.

"Maybe that's why you always play the good guy in your movies." Craig thinks aloud, and his face burns from the embarrassment of admitting to analyzing Kenny's psyche so blatantly. He expects Kenny to become defensive or withdrawn- that's how Craig would react in such a situation-, but he doesn't. Kenny only smiles at him, meeting Craig's gaze with those tragic blue eyes of his.

"Why don't you like Christmas?" Kenny turns the tables on Craig so quickly that Craig nearly chokes on his own spit, and he has to question whether or not Kenny actually said that or if he imagined it in a drunken haze.

"I never said I didn't like Christmas." Craig answers pointedly, feeling the contents of his gut shift slightly. Stop it. Calm down. You're fine. Just fucking stop.

"Didn't have to. I can just tell." Kenny shrugs, and he doesn't acknowledge their waitress when she comes to replace their empty wine bottle with a new one, much to Craig's relief. He almost wishes he didn't have to share his wine with Kenny so he could just stick a straw into the bottle and suck it down like a diet soda.

"I never celebrated Christmas until my mother and stepdad adopted me. Before then, it just meant I was gonna freeze my ass off because my dad could never afford to pay the electric bill. Plus, without school to go to, it was one less meal a day so I would spend most of the time huddled up in a blanket and fantasizing about a grilled cheese and chocolate milk." Craig says, doing his best not to register the words passing his lips.

He realizes that he's a little too sober for this conversation, and Kenny seems to realize this just as he does because he pops open their second bottle of wine and pours them both another round. It's greatly appreciated, and Craig is catching the last drops onto his lips by the time he even realizes what he's doing. It's a lot easier to talk when he's shitfaced. It's a lot easier to pretend he doesn't care.

"When my mom and stepdad adopted me, they would buy me things for Christmas, but I didn't appreciate any of it. I didn't know how. It was awkward when they would buy me expensive things, and I would just thank them and go back to watching Red Racer." he continues, remembering the anger on Thomas' face one Christmas after he purchased a lavish, battery powered, miniature car for Craig, who didn't so much as smile. Thomas ended up returning all of his gifts and giving Craig cash instead, looking deeply disappointed.

"I'd be a little pissed, too." Kenny tentatively admits, obviously trying not to upset Craig. But Craig doesn't mind. He snorts at Kenny's hesitation and shrugs.

"I ruined Christmas for them, I think. They had their happy, little Christmases with their happy, little family and Hallmark traditions, and then some fucked up kid came along and made everyone depressed and angry." Craig says bitterly, surprised at himself for sounding so verbally cynically rather than just in his own head. Kenny seems surprised as well, but more concerned than anything. "But then when I was 8, they got me a guinea pig for Christmas, and it was the first time I cried over any gift other than a sandwich."

"You cried over a guinea pig? Jesus Christ, imagine if they'd gotten you a dog. You'd have shit yourself." Kenny says incredulously, so obnoxiously loud that he's almost shouting, and Craig accidentally lets out the ugliest, nasal laugh that makes him slap a hand over his mouth in embarassment. "The fuck was that?" Kenny asks, grin so wide that Craig likens him to the Cheshire cat.

"That's the reason I don't laugh." Craig mutters dejectly, scowling and hoping the dim lighting in the restaurant hides his burning cheeks from Kenny's prying eyes.

"I'm gonna have to tell jokes around you more often because that was fan-fuckin'-tastic, my dude." Kenny laughs, and his raspy, hearty chuckle is so much more charming than Craig's laugh. It makes him envious, but he also can't help but adore Kenny for it. Not that he didn't have a whole list of qualities to adore Kenny for by this point.

"Whatever. He was a fat, noisy, guinea pig with curly brown hair and big blue eyes. My mom tied a ribbon around his body that we couldn't untie for, like, 3 hours, and I ended up naming his Stripe because I thought the ribbon would just be there forever like a red stripe on his stomach." Craig continues, smiling fondly at the memory. When he looks up, Kenny's smile is mirroring his own, but he knows it's not in fondness of some dead guinea pig.

~

"What time is it?" Kenny asks when they're standing outside the restaurant, both tipsy and brandishing blue fingertips and smoky breath. Craig slides a crushed cigarette from his back pocket, attempting to light its frayed tip.

"Too fuckin' late for me to still be out." Craig murmurs around his cigarette, eyes crossed in focus of his lighter.

"Nah, come on. I gotta show you somethin' before I take you back to your place. There might not be so many people there on account of it's so late." Kenny says, the alcohol apparently impairing Kenny's ability to speak without a country bumpkin accent. He takes Craig's free hand in his own, and Craig simply shrugs, taking a long drag of his cigarette before ashing it and squeezing Kenny's hand back in approval.

He can feel the snowflakes cultivating on his eyelashes as they make their way down the sidewalk, festive wreaths decorating the street lights above them. They're silent, but Craig doesn't feel awkwardly obligated to break the silence with words. He's content to listen to the sound of Kenny's breath and the whir of distant city life, and the feeling must be mutual because Kenny looks comfortable as well. They arrive at their destination a little too quickly for Craig's liking: a gargantuan, evergreen conifer with thousands of ornaments and flashing lights.

"Wow." Craig says monotonously, but the feeling of pure awe is genuine. Kenny is smiling, looking more sober than he has in hours.

"Yeah." Kenny whispers, and Craig chooses to ignore everyone else admiring the tree in favor of staring at Kenny. He would rather admire the way Kenny's baby blues light up with the Christmas lights. "I come here every year and just stare for what feels like hours. There's always something my eyes didn't catch the first time I looked, and it's like God is making up for all the Christmas trees I never got to have with this big, beautiful one." Kenny murmurs, pulling Craig to his side and wrapping a strong arm around Craig's bony shoulders.

"It's perfect." Craig agrees, still staring at Kenny and wondering if he's even still talking about the tree anymore or if he's talking about Kenny.

"Craig Tucker!" The moment is shattered when Craig hears a woman call his name, whipping his head around to see a group of people rushing towards them in a frenzy of cameras and blinding lights. Kenny steps in front of him in what seems like a subconscious guesture of protection that Craig is ultimately grateful for, feeling his breath catch in his throat. It's the paparazzi. You deal with them all the time. No reason to panic.

"Are you two on a date? Do you have any Christmas plans?" Questions are flooding Craig's peripherals in record numbers, but one woman's voice stands out over the rest for some reason, and it seems as though she's had the same effect on Kenny because he answers her above all the others.

"Just wrapping up our date, actually. If you want to see how we celebrate Christmas, you're just gonna have to check out our social media pages." Kenny, ever the PR advocate, flashes his award winning smile and attempts to sweet talk his way out of this interaction.

"Will there be a live stream?" "What did you get Craig for Christmas?" "Will you be attending any parties in town for Christmas?" The questions keep flying at them, and Kenny keeps spitting out answers to them like it's nothing, but Craig is over stimulated. The lights surrounding him are too bright, his clothes are beginning to irritate his skin, his face is too cold, and he's suddenly much too aware of how tight his stomach feels after eating a full meal. Too much. Way too much. Feel sick. Too sick.

"What about your families? Why don't you celebrate with them for Christmas?" That same fucking woman seems to be shouting directly at Craig, and just as he's about to shout at her to back off, their eyes meet, and he can see his mother. He sees her in those tired, sapphire eyes, graying blond hair, and thin lipped frown. He hears his mother when she asks, "Why don't you go home for Christmas, Craig?"

And it's over. There's a piercing, white noise in his ears, a tickle in his throat, and a burning in his nostrils as he watches pasta materialize on the pavement. It must be coming from his eyes, too, because they're suddenly stinging, too, and his face is becoming soaked. He can't tell if he's puking or if he's crying from his stomach, delirious and way too fucking drunk for all of this.

He's too drunk to tell Kenny how warm his arms are when he lifts him out of his mess on the pavement, too drunk to be embarrassed of how pathetic he looks in front of the camera, too drunk to apologize to Kenny for how fucked up and needy he is, too drunk to stop crying. It's always something with him. He's always needing reassurance and protection and attention and always needing something, and he hates himself for it. He knows Kenny must hate it, too.

Kenny must hate holding Craig's hair back as he dry heaves over some random toilet; must hate mopping up the mess on the floor because Craig missed the toilet on his first try; must hate washing the puke off of Craig's hair, face, and hands in the bathtub; must hate having to carry Craig's heavy, limp body to the bed.

He must hate Craig, and who could blame him?

~

Craig doesn't think he's ever felt as low as he does when he wakes up in Kenny's bed alone this morning. He's wearing a woolen sweater and long socks, his soiled clothes smelling of bleach and folded neatly at his bed side. Kenny is nowhere to be found, and there's no sign of him ever having slept in the bed with Craig that night. Not that Craig expects him to have spent the night with some drunk, disgusting faggot who couldn't even hold his head up long enough to apologize to him.

Maybe it's better that Kenny didn't stick around. He's no good at apologies, and he's never been one for goodbyes because he's never been one for hellos. Kenny had seemed so happy last night when they were on their date. For once he didn't have to comfort Craig or worry about him eating or make him feel safe. For once they were both just two adult having a good time in each other's company. For once he felt like everything was going to be okay, but the one thing he has ever been good at is disappointing people.

He makes the bed and changes back into his own clothes, folding Kenny's borrowed clothes neatly and staring at his own swollen, hollow eyes in the reflection of Kenny's window. He's so fucking tired of wasting everyone's time. He's just so fucking tired of existing like this. He turns away from his reflection and quietly shuts the door of Kenny's bedroom behind him.

I'm sorry, Kenny.

"What are you doing up? I was going to come get you when I finished cooking." Kenny's voice pierces Craigs chest like an arrow, and he nearly walks face first into the divider between the kitchen and the living room. There's an overwhelming aroma of maple syrup and bacon invading his nostrils, and Kenny has the kitchen table set with two placemats. He even has two ibuprofen and a glass of water by one.

"You weren't there when I woke up." Craig says, and he's shocked by how hoarse and broken his voice sounds. He can't imagine how pathetic he must look, but he must look something wrought because the look on Kenny's face softens significantly.

"I got up early so I could wash your clothes and make us breakfast. Are you okay, dude?" Kenny asks gently, plating two waffles and turning to face Craig. He doesn't need to be so kind. He shouldn't be so understanding. He shouldn't be so perfect like the characters he plays in his shitty movies, but he is.

"I'm sorry. For everything." Craig whispers, and he can't make out the look on Kenny's face because the world suddenly looks to be blurry and distorted, but he can make out the movement of Kenny's arms opening wide, and his legs transport him into Kenny's waiting arms without him telling them to do so.

"Don't be. You're perfect."

~

3 days have passed since the paparazzi incident, and to Craig's relief, Cartman hasn't mentioned it. He's sure Clyde is the reason, and his suspicions are confirmed when Tweek tells him that Clyde threatened to fire Cartman if he said anything about it. He's a good friend, and Craig spends an entire day petting Clyde's hair and babying him when Clyde eats an entire tray of Token's leftover Christmas cookies and gets a stomach ache.

"You're looking better." Token says quietly when they're all watching Christmas special reruns in the living room on evening, Clyde asleep on Craig's lap with his drool gluing his cheek to Craig's thigh. Tweek nods his head in silent agreement.

"Everyone looks better when they wipe the vomit off their face." Craig mutters.

"You know that's know what we meant." Token scolds him, and Craig turns his attention down to the snoring man on his lap.

"Yeah."

And maybe they're right. Maybe he doesn't look like a walking corpse anymore. Maybe he deserve to see it.

He stands in front of his mirror, wondering if there's really a mirror underneath that dusty sheet or if it's some other oblong piece of furniture. It's been so long since he used a real mirror that wasn't 1.5'x1.5' and smudged with toothpaste and shaving cream. The last time he looked in the mirror was when he refused to come home for his mother's birthday, and his sister called him an ugly bastard over the phone. It was one of the first times he ever thought of himself as being an ugly person, but she had been right. Anyone that would make Laura Tucker cry was an ugly bastard. He ruined he birthday that year, and after that, he changed his phone number and tossed a sheet over his mirror.

But maybe he's not so ugly anymore. Kenny would tell him if he was, he's sure of it. Kenny looks at him like he's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and even if he's not God's gift to man's eyes, he can't be that ugly anymore.

He grips the edge of the sheet between his gaunt fingers, holding his breath and pinching his eyes shut. Part of him hopes that there really isn't a mirror under there anymore. Another part of him expects it to be one of those funhouse mirrors that makes him look 10x worse than reality. But the biggest part of him just wants to know what he looks like for the first time in years.

And there he is. The sheet litters the floor, and his image litters the mirror's surface, but it isn't bad. It's not hideous, and it's not ugly. It's just Craig. It's his unruly, ebony hair, sharp feature, slender frame, and round eyes. It's Craig, and it's just okay. He doesn't know what he was expecting. The embodiment of disgust? A pig with an emo haircut and skinny jeans? He isn't sure, but it seems ridiculous now that he could ever see anything but this. He looks like Craig Tucker, and that might not be great, but it's okay. He's okay.

He turns away from his reflection, picks his phone up from the bedside table, and thumbs over the dialing pad. There are hundreds of Twitter notifications and text message alerts and emails, but that's not what he's looking for. He's looking for something that might not even exist anymore, but he gives it a shot. The number flashes across his screen after he hits SEND, and he listens to a dial tone until a woman's voice answers with a meek, "Hello?"

"Mom?"


End file.
